


And It Was the Strangest Thing

by LemonKith



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-03-31 20:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 96,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13982985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonKith/pseuds/LemonKith
Summary: Jervis is the 'new kid' in the highest security ward at Arkham. He catches Jonathan Crane's attention. Jonathan did not intend his attention to be caught.





	1. New Kid (On the Cell Block)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. It's been a long time since I wrote Batman fic...
> 
> Jervis is mainly based on B:tAS for appearance/backstory, Jonathan is mainly based on the Scarecrow: Year One comic. Everyone else is an unimportant mix of the Animated Series and comics.
> 
> The Dork Squad/Tea Party Trio are autistic in this because I'm autistic and I see a lot of traits in their behaviour/personality that fit amplified aspects of my experiences. It'll be relevant later in the fic too.

The first time Jervis was arrested and interned in Arkham Asylum it was within the lower security wing for the standardly criminally insane. He was just a normal man who had been pushed a little too far after all, someone who had accidentally pointed his abnormal intelligence in the wrong direction and just needed a little help to get himself straight again.

The second time Jervis was arrested and interned in Arkham Asylum it was within the highest security ward, reserved only for the most formidable and notable of inmates. After his escape, well, beheading people mediaeval-style with an actual poleaxe tended to get one marked as a little more than normally mad for Gotham. The beheadings had hardly been his fault though, in his defence; his possessions and research had been confiscated by the police after his arrest and those half a dozen necks had simply got in the way of what was rightfully his.

Under a much more watchful eye, after a few days good behaviour and medication Jervis was allowed into the rec room with the rest of the Rogues Gallery for the first time.

“Get moving,” the guard escorting shoved him forward roughly, more concerned with shutting the door tightly behind them. “Go meet the rest of the freaks and make some friends.”

Jervis looked around the rather drab, slightly worse for wear room with slow blinking, blue eyes. “‘Of course the first thing to do was to make a grand survey of she was going to travel through.’” To one side, denoted only by a line made of shoe scuffs along the floor, were grey faces he couldn’t put names to, or perhaps grey names he couldn’t put faces to. This side of the room seemed to have been reserved for all of the colour; green, half-brown and half-red, white-

“Well, what do we have here?”

Jervis looked up at the white face. “‘”Well! I’ve often seen a cat without a grin, but a grin without a cat! It’s the most curious thing I ever saw in my life!”’”

He actually earned himself a laugh. “Kooky, little thing, aren’t you?” The Joker chuckled as he walked up, leaning on the top of his head with an elbow.

Jervis took the thing in good nature, accustomed as all short people are to the habit of tall people thinking it’s funny to lean on you. “‘”Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat; “we’re all mad here.”’”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself! Come say hi to the guys- Well, and Pam but she doesn’t mind being included as one of the guys, do you?” A middle finger was adeptly flicked over the back of the single couch on this side, one the Joker was forcibly leading Jervis towards. It didn’t seem the sort of leading one put up any protest to. “Nice little bit of mayhem you did on the news,” the Joker said to him casually as they walked; “really brightened up my day.”

“I was on the news?” Jervis asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the small TV screen behind the wire safety mesh.

“Sure you were! You’re one of us now, Hat.” The Joker clapped him hard on both shoulders, using those hands to turn him towards the two rogues in the seating area. “Okay, everybody! Let’s put on our happy faces to greet the fresh meat!”

Jervis looked from the unnervingly wide grin above him to Poison Ivy on the couch, “Touch my plants and you die,” and Two-Face in the perpendicular armchair, “Touch anything of mine and you die twice.”

“See? We’re one big, happy family here!” the Joker announced above him, laughing manically.

“Just joyful,” Jervis murmured dryly, seeming to avoid the Joker’s ears.

He was spun round physically once again, now facing a lone wooden table that sat four but currently seated only two, every bit of those furnishings bolted to the ground. “And over there’s our women’s cheerleading team; I think we might make it all the way to the play-offs this year thanks to their pep – Say hi, guys!”

The Scarecrow looked up with a sideways glance of utter loathing. The Riddler didn’t even deign to look.

But between them, on the table- Jervis’ eyes widened not dissimilarly to a cat catching sight of a wiggling piece of string.

“Ooh, look who’s on TV!” Jervis was released as suddenly as he’d been accosted, briefly noting the talk show segment on Batman that had been his saviour. “Some other time, Hat.”

Gratefully abandoned, Jervis tempered his eagerness down to just a slight skip as he crossed to the table, taking a seat beside the Riddler and diagonally across from the Scarecrow. His eyes glued to the chessboard between them immediately, drinking in the game already in play as eagerly as Alice with a shrinking potion.

“The Mad Hatter,” the Riddler spoke first.

“Jervis Tetch,” Scarecrow replied, the discussion about but apparently not to Jervis.

“Multiple accounts of abduction, multiple accounts of property damage.”

“Multiple accounts of first-degree murder,” Scarecrow finished, finally making his move with a white bishop. “Less like mad, more like bad.”

“That was terrible, Jonathan,” Edward tutted as he began considering his move.

The assessment seemed to pass Jonathan unnoticed, his attention instead flicking to Jervis expectantly.

Jervis opened his mouth, “’”Your hair wants cutting,”’” and let the first thing that came to mind come out.

Jonathan Crane actually smiled. It was more of a smirk perhaps, rather small all things considered, but nonetheless. “You survived the Joker’s greeting better than most,” he said.

“A cat’s not that difficult,” Jervis replied, “at least not when it’s got a rodent to amuse itself with,” gaze flicking to the TV across the room as the Joker let out another raucous laugh.

The smile, or perhaps smirk, continued until Jonathan looked back at the board in front of him. “Your options for the hours in here are television with compulsory director’s commentary,” he paused, not having to wait long for Two-Face to yell something at the whatever the TV had said now, “or chess- Well, if Edward ever decides to take his move that is,” he added a little more dryly.

“I am _contemplating_ ,” Edward said with the upmost haughtiness.

“Surprising really,” Jonathan said to Jervis simply for want of an audience, “how much time Gotham’s ‘smartest man’ has to spend ‘contemplating’ against a lowly specimen such as myself.”

“After the number of games we’ve played I know you’ve learnt my more common strategies,” Edward dismissed; “you may not be as smart as me but you’re certainly no idiot.”

“Such high praise,” Jonathan said aside again to Jervis, still with that little smile.

Jervis opened his mouth, but then considered the wry asides he was receiving may simply be the result of finally having a third party to make such comments to as opposed to any favouring of Jervis. And the small smile – Might it not be one of a sadistic madman with a new piece of prey in his sights he wanted to lure in and enjoy?

Still... it was dreadfully boring in here.

Jervis shut his mouth, looking down at the chessboard. “...You ought to move your knight,” he said to Edward after a nervous moment. He didn’t need to specify which one with the advanced state the game was in, although Edward did appear to be winning.

“I already had that as one of many strategies I was been considering,” Edward replied as he leapt the small black horse into its new position. “Your move, Jonathan.” He sat back with pleasure considering how that move had changed the playing field.

Jonathan frowned at the board now as he took his turn at contemplating. “Edward always plays as black,” he commented aside to Jervis after a moment; “it gives him an excuse whenever he loses.”

“Excuse you, Jonathan; I play as black to give you even half a chance of beating me,” Edward retorted.

Psychological warfare. It did seem to be distracting Edward from paying attention to the strategies Jonathan’s gaze betrayed as it moved around pieces on the board.

“Riddle me this.” Jervis looked away, up to Edward beside him. “I am gone but not all there.”

“’”Come, we shall have some fun now!” thought Alice. “I'm glad they've begun asking riddles – I believe I can guess that,”’” Jervis said, going off into his mind to find the answer.

“Rather short for you, Edward,” Jonathan commented as he finally made a move.

“Oh? Does size matter to you, Jonathan?” Edward smirked, a lewd element to it.

“Normally you enjoy hearing the sound of your own voice more than that,” Jonathan volleyed back. “I wondered if it might have been a dig at Jervis’ height.”

“Please,” Edward derided.

Jervis, not that he hadn’t been paying attention, didn’t respond to the banter. Instead, “One,” he answered.

“Half a brain I see,” Edward said, sounding pleased. He only took a moment this time to make his play at chess, then delivered, “Riddle me this then: I’m small but slightly bigger.”

“Now that one was definitely a dig at Jervis’ height,” Jonathan commented this time.

“You only taunt like that when you can’t guess,” Edward said.

“It’s the medication...” he muttered with a bit of a scowl.

Edward didn’t mock that, instead turning to Jervis expectantly.

Jervis’ cheek made a slight popping sound as he continued to tap a fingertip on it. Eventually, “Little?” he guessed.

“He’s acceptable,” Edward decided, speaking to Jonathan.

Jonathan simply made his move in lieu of a reply.

“If I may,” Jervis started, gaining in boldness: “How is love like a bubble?”

“Oh, he can produce something too.” Edward went off into considering with a hum, multi-tasking with his turn at chess.

He played his move before answering, “I believe it’s a play on ‘love’ meaning nil in tennis and the shape or emptiness of a bubble, although I’m not sure quite how you want it phrased in your Wonderland language.”

“No,” Jervis said, unable to resist a rather whimsical smirk; “because a small prick can ruin both.”

Jonathan snorted, disguising it subtly with a cough.

Edward tutted sharply, body language bristling defensively. “That’s a joke, not a riddle.”

“Much of a muchness,” Jervis said lackadaisically, deciding it was probably not best to make a comment the self-proclaimed ‘Riddler’ ought be able to tell a riddle when he met one.

“Jokes are the Joker’s thing,” Edward said; “perhaps I ought to tell him our new ‘friend’ is attempting to muscle in on his territory.”

Jervis recognised a threat when he heard one- Well, practically anything involving the Joker was a threat really. He opted to shrink dutifully before Edward instead, hoping a little submissive cowering would fix things.

It appeared to, but it only served to bring on a new, even worse dilemma.

“Tell me,” Jonathan suddenly spoke, taking a physical delight in moving his queen forward across the board to knock out Edward’s remaining knight; “what do you fear?”

There was the option of remaining tight-lipped, withholding the answer he was well aware of. But if he didn’t give it up willingly it would certainly only be a matter of time until he gave it up unwillingly, and Jervis had lived in Gotham for a few years now; he’d seen the Scarecrow and the effects of his ethics-what-ethics research on the unwilling citizens of this city.

So, as Edward sat beside him considering his next move, “What do I fear? Reality.”

Jervis held as firm as he could beneath the new flicker in those ice blue eyes – A mugshot on TV was one thing but, dear God, in real life – He dabbed at his lips with his tongue, hands fidgeting beneath the table as the Scarecrow’s head began to cant fixedly in his direction. “Reality?”

Jervis answered in the only way he could: “’” I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole – and yet – and yet – it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what CAN have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one! There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought!”’”

The quote didn’t seem to faze the Scarecrow. Just as Edward made his move, pushing forward his rook triumphantly, Jonathan knocked over his white king with a simple flick to the head. Edward squawked indignantly about the forfeit, not that he couldn’t understand it after that masterful last move of his, but Jonathan’s attention remained fixed on Jervis.

A hand turned the chessboard slightly, presenting the black end to Jervis.

Nervously, Jervis put his hand upon one of the black pawns and placed it in starting position, then its friend. As the neat lines assembled once again, “’”Now, Kitty, let’s consider who it was that dreamed it all,”’” Jonathan’s side took form first, allowing him to lean casually on one elbow as he regarded Jervis across the table. “Which side of the looking-glass is it that you fear?”

He was waiting with a smile on the answer, one that confirmed Jervis’ new fear that Jonathan relished his use of quotes. Jervis looked to Edward beside him, who seemed utterly bored with the whole thing and half-distracted by the TV, then submitted to placing his final pawn on the board so they could begin. “’”It’s no use talking about it,” Alice said. “I’m _not_ going in again yet.”’”

Jonathan thought for a moment before he began the game with the first move. “That’s when Alice is in the garden and doesn’t want to go back to the house; you don’t want to go back through the looking-glass.”

Jervis kept his face lowered, looking up through his lashes as he obediently made his replying move. “’”If it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic.”’”

“Contrariwise, logic isn’t the same as truth: ‘”You might just as well say that ‘I like what I get’ is the same as ‘I get what I like’!”’”

“Can’t you two speak English?” Edward interrupted.

“’”Fiddle-de-dee’s not English,” said Alice gravely,’” Jervis responded.

“’”I never said it was,”’” Jonathan continued, causing Edward to groan and turn his body away now. “Alice doesn’t want to go back through the looking-glass because that’ll be the end to all her adventures, if I recall correctly. Now, you may have picked the quote entirely out of context, but you wouldn’t be a fan of Lewis Carroll if you didn’t enjoy things with depth of meaning.”

Jervis watched the rook Jonathan slid across the board, taking a pawn of his. He dispatched a black bishop to deal swiftly with the offending castle. “Fine, if it’ll save me being on the receiving end of your fear toxin at some point, it’s the so-called objective reality I fear,” Jervis said brusquely.

“Why?”

“It’s a miserable thing, and my place in it particularly.” His posture closed up as he considered the game in front of him for anything else to think about. “...It just doesn’t make any blasted sense,” he muttered after a further moment of chewing his lower lip.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, then it settled again. “You’re autistic, aren’t you?” he assessed, then responded to Jervis’ expression by gesturing at himself and Edward. “’”You must be, or you wouldn’t have come here.”’”

“Jonathan’s the utterly heartless and lacking in empathy, science-obsessed type,” Edward took up casually. “I’m the type the non-autistics feel intimidated by and thus attack due to my above-average intelligence and unashamed honesty.”

“I am the type who preferences rationality over emotions in social dealings and has a strong science-based special interest. Edward is the type whose weaker theory of mind has led to a superiority complex, particularly over non-autistics, and doesn’t realise the need for tact over honesty sometimes when dealing with people.” Edward tutted dismissively, but should be noted didn’t bother arguing with Jonathan. “I suppose you’re the type who uses their special interest as a social crutch and safety blanket and is thus perceived to have never properly grown up. The quotes are because you have difficulty forming your thoughts into words of your own, particularly in situations of stress or high emotion,” Jonathan diagnosed.

Fiddling with one of his discarded pieces, “Fear, imposing tests of intelligence on people – It’s all about rectifying a lack of control we have,” Jervis mumbled. “I suppose I was simply more direct about it with my technology; there’s no need to fear social interaction when you control both sides of it- Ah, I used the word ‘fear’ again,” he realised, seeing the gleaming grin across the table. “’How cheerfully he seems to grin, How neatly spreads his claws, And welcomes little fishes in With gently smiling jaws.’”

“I have to say,” Jonathan mentioned as he took his move, placing a knight in the seeming middle of nowhere on the board, “I’ve never tried my toxin on someone with such an intangible fear as yours before. It would be a fascinating experiment...”

“Or perhaps we could not?” Jervis asked despite the futility, trying to work out what grander strategy Jonathan was setting up for with that knight. “I’ve a bit of a sore throat right now and I wouldn’t like to do too much screaming.” He only got a short laugh in response to his suggestion. “You know, you ought to try using DMT – N,N-Dimethyltryptamine – in your fear toxin instead of the ergolines you use currently. It would require the addition of a MAOI to the solution but the hallucinogenic effects are much more intense and rapid, and the fact two components are needed could work to your favour by allowing you to activate a latent form at a time of your choosing by introducing the other component then, a binary compound I believe the term is,” Jervis said, all while making his move in the form of a small, diagonal shift of his queen.

Even Edward had turned back from the TV to see how Jonathan would take that more than slight suggestion. He opted for a suspicious anger first, “How do you know I use ergolines in my fear toxin? Has my ‘fanclub’ leaked the formula online somewhere?”

“No, simply deduction,” Jervis answered lightly as he watched Jonathan’s move. “Based on the chemicals you’d need to target the amygdala to shape the hallucinations into ones of fear rather than another emotion, you’d need to use an alkaloid to avoid chemical reactions that would break the whole toxin down. Ergolines are the most common form – In a city like Gotham, LSD and magic mushrooms are not hard to come by as a substance to isolate them from.”

“You’d know,” Edward jumped in to comment.

“I don’t use recreational drugs.” Jervis moved his queen with a slightly peeved briskness. “I’m a neuroscientist. And as for the formula being online, I did check to see if my deductions were correct but couldn’t find more than speculation on there.”

“Why have you considered what my fear toxin is made of?” Jonathan moved through to suspicious curiosity now.

“Mere curiosity,” Jervis answered as well. “Perhaps a desire to know what I might be on the receiving end of one day – You nearly caught me in that Halloween scheme with the fake candy last year – I see you on TV often enough to give me reason to think of you.”

“Wow, Jonathan,” Edward chirped up again in his obnoxious way; “I think you have a fan.”

“No, simply a fellow scientist with too much time on his hands.”

“Isn’t DMT illegal?” Jonathan almost smiled now, thoughtfully, as they traded chess moves.

“That bothers you?” Jervis retorted dryly.

“It would be more difficult to come by,” Jonathan clarified.

“Oh, I see. I’m rather new to this whole ‘being evil’ thing, you see.”

“...How did you know which chemicals I’d be using to target the amygdala?” Jonathan asked after a pause.

“The 10/6 cards are just one of the forms of my technology,” Jervis shared, moving his bishop to a square that mildly confused Jonathan. “I theorised others to mimic truth serum, general anaesthetic and a few other common things; the 10/6 cards were simply the most useful and my crowning achievement, you see. There’s no point to tipping my hand so early, now is there?” He allowed himself a grin as Jonathan continued to puzzle over the chessboard. “One of the other cards I developed stimulates the amygdala- Well, technically it stimulates the whole limbic system. Makes a being very emotional, rather animalistic-”

“Could you tell the difference with most humans?” Edward cynically asked.

“I’ve never tested it on more than mice, sadly,” Jervis answered him. “Anyway, those 7/2 cards prevent the use of the neocortex and thus rationality and forethought. I’ve yet to think of a use for them personally; I imagine you might be able to do something with them however.”

Jonathan paused, fingers on his queen and thus locked to move it. “7/2?”

“I have a whole system for numbering them; I may have fudged that one slightly so that it coincides with the date of your birthday - Well, the English and proper way round of writing the date.” He shrugged, beckoning for Jonathan to move his queen already. “It seemed fitting; I thought the whole thing up in the first place only after watching some programme about you on TV.”

While Edward made an, “Aww!” in mocking, Jonathan focused on, “It targets the amygdala?”

“Well, with a little more refinement it could target that specifically,” Jervis said as he selected his bishop. “It was among the research I had to go and retrieve a little forcefully before my present internment here. I’d gladly let you have it- Oh, but it’s out there and I’m in here! I’m afraid I’m still rather new to this whole Arkham thing, although I believe you’re not.” Jervis slid his bishop across the squares into position. “What do you say?”

Jonathan looked down and found himself in check, one he had to sacrifice either his king or his queen to escape. He selected his queen, watching it fall to Jervis’ next move.

It wasn’t long until Jervis had him checkmated completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the stuff about chemicals is true, aside from chemicals that would target the amygdala needing alkaloids to avoid reactions. Don't go getting any ideas though, Crane-fans!


	2. Two Bros Chillin’ in an Asylum Five Feet Apart ‘Cause They’re Not Gay

It started with neuroscience and associated fields such as psychology and biochemistry. From there it progressed to the other sciences and literature. Then just about everything seemed to be on the table whenever Jonathan and Jervis talked in the rec room or at meal times.

Jervis had the intelligence of Edward but applied in the areas Jonathan was interested in, and was without the egotistical delusions one needed to support Edward in to get him to engage with you. Oh, Jervis had plenty of delusions too of course – He was hardly the sanest banana in the bunch. Actually he was more like an apple trying to fit into a banana bunch compared with the lucid if obsessive likes of the other Rogues – but at least you didn’t need to support them to get a reply out of him. Said reply if you didn’t play along tended to be a Carroll quote nine times out of ten but still, his own alter ego talked in nursery rhymes half the time; Jonathan could hardly complain.

No, the main difficulty was perhaps Jervis was _too_ easy to get along with.

Jonathan realised it when he found himself casting lingering glances at Jervis’ body over the partition between them in the showers. It was only ever while Jervis was washing his hair or otherwise occupied – And while the Joker on the other side of him was busier singing awfully for attention than getting himself clean – and Jonathan would look away as soon as he realised what he was doing.

But it would be typical of his life for this to happen, for his hormones and neurotransmitters to conspire to ruin a perfectly good friendship by latching a desire to physically mate onto it.

The constant, unrequited desire slithering traitorously around their every conversation, took complete control of his gaze away from him every time Jervis might be in the room and generally made it impossible to concentrate on the any number of more important matters like planning an escape or the research he could do once out. There was also the utter, embarrassing pain of memories it brought back, of naive adolescence and hopeful feelings that had only led him to pain and disillusioned resentment; obviously his body hadn’t learnt its operant conditioning about having such feelings sufficiently after all.

Jervis hadn’t yet seemed to have noticed any of the physical symptoms of Jonathan’s body betraying him, but maybe that was because, “Are you unwell, Jervis?” Jonathan asked one lunchtime as the other man sat across from him, poking his food around with less enthusiasm than even its disgusting nature deserved.

“It’s these damn pills...” Jervis muttered, leant on one elbow with his head cradled heavily; Jonathan suspected a headache of some kind. “I don’t see how they expect to make me better when I can’t think straight enough to answer any of the questions they ask me.”

“It’s a standard set of anti-psychotic and sedative medications they give to everyone when they first come here until they work out what’s wrong with you,” Jonathan said, adding off-hand, “The Joker’s still on them I hear.”

Jervis groaned. “How long does that take, for those of us with a diagnosable insanity?”

Jonathan assessed him visually. “Once they trusted you after the first few times, you stopped taking your medications, didn’t you? They found out and now they check you’re taking them each time,” he guessed. Jervis gave him a glassy stare, then nodded. “The side-effects are still kicking in therefore,” Jervis having been in a couple of weeks now. “As soon as they start wearing off tends to be the time they work out what medication you should be on and switch you; you then get to enjoy the new side-effects of that in combination with the withdrawal symptoms of these.”

“Oh wonderful.” Jervis couldn’t have sounded more bitter.

“The first time is the worst,” Jonathan told him. “The next time you’re brought back here they’ll put you on the right medication from the start. Consider this a medical hazing,” he said with the same ironic, perhaps slightly malicious smile.

Jervis simply made a wet groaning noise in his throat this time. He attempted some of the food in front of him but, true to its appearance, it only seemed to make things worse.

“The Tuesday risotto is awful,” Jonathan agreed, “but try to eat what you can; they give us pizza in the evenings to make up for it and you need your strength for the fight over the spare slices.”

“’”He’s only just out of prison, and he hadn’t finished his tea when he was sent in,” Haigha whispered to Alice; “and they only give them oyster-shells in there.”’” Jervis resigned himself to another mouthful. “I don’t think I want to get used to this place, Jonathan,” he said more meekly after chewing as much as he could bear. “Isn’t it about time for a mass breakout or the like? When I was a civilian it seemed as if there was one every other week.”

“You’ve only been here a couple of weeks,” Jonathan said, “and that did used to be the case. They’ve since tightened up security because of it.”

Jervis pouted as he poked a rather suspicious black bit in his risotto. “I picked the worst time to get in on this costumed supervillain malarkey...”

Eventually Jervis adjusted to life in Arkham, then was promptly unadjusted as indeed the doctors changed his medication at precisely that time. With his rebellious body and all its hormonal nonsense, it hurt Jonathan to see Jervis wilting again like that; to have it all a second time around seemed to be sapping his ability to fight back against the despair that pervaded Arkham like the fog so adeptly described in _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_. Only time and repeated visits let you develop an immunity to it.

He had been planning his own breakout anyway – Places to be, people to fear gas – but now time felt a little more of the urgency for Jervis’ sake.

His hormones wanted it for obvious reasons. His brain couldn’t disagree either with the offer Jervis had made over chess concerning his research. It made sense in every way.

“We have a very good ratio of similarities to differences to result in biologically advantaged offspring were we to mate – If procreation were actually possible, of course,” Jonathan found himself saying as he sat alone in his cell one evening. Talking to himself was hardly an unusual thing with Scarecrow sharing his mind, even if Arkham’s medication was suppressing Scarecrow currently. “He fits within the parameters of what I had assumed my sexual and romantic orientation to be.” Which was to say a pattern-less mix of genders that could hardly be called a specified orientation with its lack of samples. “I don’t have what I believe would be called ‘a type’ for him to correlate with or not.” See previous reasoning about a lack of samples. “I suppose my attraction to Jervis makes logical sense,” Jonathan finally admitted to himself, which at least allowed him to make some peace with his sulking and unsatisfied body.

“Of course that still leaves the question of what to do about it,” he continued. “Taking the most likely independent variable, Jervis does not reciprocate-” His body, somewhere around his chest region this time however, rebelled again. Jonathan reminded it of Alice Pleasance and smacked himself on the outside of his upper torso as a warning to it. “If Jervis does not reciprocate I hypothesise I stand to gain nothing from informing him of this fact or letting him come by knowledge of it by any other method. Therefore my options are to continue with my current course and attempt to suppress it,” He briefly took a moment to note the unpleasant, non-physical pain in his chest had returned, “or more preferably to rid myself of the attraction.”

Jonathan sat there in silence for a long time frowning. He didn’t know anything of these sorts of things, not enough to know how one went about ridding oneself of unwanted attraction at least.

“On the smaller chance that Jervis does or could reciprocate...” Jonathan trailed off, not exactly sure what happened in such a situation. What happened on TV and in books when two human beings shared mutual attraction to each other? Yes, he understood the whole idea of relationships, sex, marriage and so forth. But how did one get from both having an attraction to establishing that to each other and then making anything of it?

“Those mindless imbeciles out there really must have nothing worth doing with their lives to bother with all this; I can’t imagine the positive outputs could outweigh the complexity of establishing the whole damnable thing,” he muttered, having truly considered the reality of a relationship for the first time in his life.

“We’re in a poor situation to have a relationship anyway,” Jonathan said decisively as he lay down on his cot, turning over and pulling the blanket over him. “Let alone the insensibility of trying to navigate the whole thing with our atypical mental states and Jervis’ delusions.” He reached up to his chest, scratching at the aching feeling inside it now futilely. “We can’t have him. We’re breaking him out but that’s it,” he told it, firmly shutting his eyes to think about something else so he could fall asleep.

~#~

This time’s escape plan was not notable, nothing Jonathan particularly wanted to be known for. It was simple though, and if his last few schemes had taught him something it was that simplicity was a virtue often overlooked in line of work – I mean, a giant countdown clock that arbitrarily delayed everything by five minutes just so he had time to properly relish the anticipation? It was as if he had subconsciously wanted to give Batman the chance to come thwart him – No, simplicity was the name of the game this time.

Arkham invariably had a high turnover rate of guards – Stress, futility, death by Joker – and one of the current new crop was a rather tall but skinny young fellow. He was getting by using his height to make up for his lack of bulk but the important thing, aside from his build, was the type of guard he was.

Arkham guards came in two types: Sadists and bullies that came to hurt, insult and generally lord over people they viewed as inferior – They were the truly sick ones here – And a second kind that came because they had good souls and wanted to actually help the poor inmates of Arkham.

This new guard was one of the second.

Jonathan didn’t consider him weak because of that – On the contrary, to look at something like the population of Arkham and not feel the fear that led the first sort to anger made them a stronger person to him; it was easier, weaker, to bully others to keep your position than want to help them up to join you – but it did make him vulnerable. It was a sad thing, really; after you took advantage of the good natured ones they tended to transform into the second type of guard by the time you next returned more often than not.

Still, sacrifices needed to be made.

A period of deliberately good behaviour had earned Jonathan laundry duty – No, he didn’t really understand how that was considered a ‘reward’ but still – Having laundry duty put you into contact with cleaning supplies and chemicals if you played your cards right. All you then needed to do was mix together the right ones to make a concoction that could knock someone out by smell – The helpful manufacturers practically gave him a recipe with the ‘Use in a well-ventilated area’ labels on the back – then uncover that concoction in the presence of the guard he’d lured in to help him and oops! Down he went!

Jonathan quickly disposed of the chemicals down the nearest sink, forcing himself through the second-hand dizziness he’d exposed himself to. He then set to stripping the guard of his uniform – That was where the matter of build came into things – and donned it himself, throwing his old uniform into the laundry just to make it a little more difficult to identify him if the guard was discovered in the next few minutes.

Pulling the brimmed hat down, Jonathan strode out of the storage room confidently and down the corridors of Arkham. He passed one guard, nodding to them, en route to the belongings storage room which this uniform also handily provided keys for.

Though he sought out his own belongings first, it was only to move them to just inside the door in a handy bag aside from some small fear toxin syringes and canisters he pocketed. No, what he was really here for was in another drawer. Jonathan pulled open that one quickly, bundling everything into the same bag as his aside from a few small items he could also pocket. He also grabbed something else small and quick from one final drawer before leaving.

Shutting the door without locking it, he headed back to the high-security cells where all the patients not ‘rewarded’ with laundry duty were currently being kept.

The guard on duty nodded to him, then seemed to notice after a moment that, “Hey, you aren’t-”

During that moment Jonathan had walked close enough to stick one of Jervis’ 10/6 cards under the brim of the guard’s hat, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Give me the keys for the cells,” he ordered.

The guard remained sat, completely frozen.

“Give me the keys for the cells,” Jonathan repeated a little louder and closer in case that was the problem.

He frowned as the guard still remained completely still.

“Stand up,” Jonathan tried simply as a test if the card was working.

It patently wasn’t, given the guard remained as seated as before.

With a sigh, “Mind ‘control’ indeed...” Jonathan hoisted the guard to his feet with the ease of repositioning a mannequin to begin a manual search. He was aware that he was practically groping the guard as he searched through the various pockets of his trousers, “This is payback for all the cavity searches,” but it was only a brief matter before he pulled them from where they were tucked in a special pocket of the trousers; good to know for future reference.

Snapping the cord they were attached to, he set off with them spinning on his finger down the cell row to a certain Hatter’s cell. The keys were all numbered to correspond to small numbers beside the cell doors so it was hardly difficult to find Jervis’, open the door and announce, “’And the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and called out, “First witness!”’”

Jervis seemed in a stupor for a moment before realising, “Jonathan?”

“Breakout time,” Jonathan summarised briskly, beckoning Jervis to come on already. “Oh, and your cards are broken,” he said on Jervis’ way to the door.

“Broken?”

“I put one on one of the guards; he wouldn’t respond to a thing I said.”

Jervis frowned briefly before realising, “You’re not wearing the control band, are you?” Since Jonathan’s blank expression answered for him, “There’s a red band among my possessions, inside my top hat; you need to be wearing it for the commands to work. Otherwise any old Bat could undo my orders.”

“Oh.” Jonathan felt a brief fool for not realising that rather smart safety measure, but more importantly.

*Clink-clink-clink!*

Jonathan crossed to the cell diagonally opposite Jervis’, beside his own, and took a moment enjoying seeing Edward frowning impatiently on the other side of the glass wall. “Well? Aren’t you going to let me out too?” Edward demanded.

“How about a riddle?” Jonathan counter-offered. “Answer it and I’ll let you out.”

Edward scowled darkly.

“Because I seem to remember being submitted to something like that during our last breakout when the positions were reversed,” Jonathan continued, smug as could be to rub it back into Edward’s face.

“I asked one I knew you could answer!”

“It still wasted precious time.”

“Which is exactly what you’re doing right now not letting me out!” Edward shouted through the glass.

Jonathan made a pretence of thinking about it a moment longer before going to Edward’s metal door and unlocking that too. He could already hear Two-Face behind him knocking on the glass for release. He tossed the rest of the keys to Edward along with the third thing in his pocket, a small smiley-faced ball. “You release the rest,” Jonathan instructed. “I’d advise you do so someone can play distraction for us.”

“And the Joker-bomb?” Edward eyed it distastefully, very less than pleased about how casually Jonathan had thrown it to him.

“Maybe it’ll give you some inspiration as to whom to recruit,” Jonathan said as he grabbed Jervis’ wrist, pulling him into a run as they headed for the exit.

Jervis struggled to keep up, shorter legs for one thing but also, “Will the Dormouse be okay? He won’t be suppressed or pinched, will he?” he asked, glancing back for Edward.

“He’ll be fine. The Joker will leap at the chance to cause mayhem and take the staff’s attention; he won’t trouble Edward and all the other rogues have some semblance of loyalty to make them grateful.” Since Jervis was still looking back, “I left that job to Edward because he knows what he’s doing; you don’t,” Jonathan said, if that was Jervis’ problem.

“Oh,” Jervis said meekly, submitting to being pulled along a little faster.

They stopped at the carded guard briefly so Jonathan could punch him in the face – “Jonathan!” “I aimed for the temple; he’ll have a concussion at worse.” – and take the card back from the unconscious body. He passed it to Jervis along with the others in his pocket, arming himself with his fear toxin as he conveyed to Jervis the need to run now the staff would soon notice-

A loud explosion cut Jonathan off before he could even finish that thought.

“The Cheshire Cat?” Jervis asked before they quickly pulled themselves aside at the sound of rushing footsteps ahead.

After a moment’s silence while the guards passed, “They say timing is central to comedy; it’s no wonder his jokes are so terrible,” Jonathan grumbled and pulled Jervis onwards.

They ran unhindered until they reached the belongings storage, ducking in to grab their bag of possessions and avoid another wave of passing guards. Jervis put on his top hat, complete with control band, during the short wait while Jonathan pulled out Edward’s drawer ready for when he got here- Well, if he got here.

“Mass breakouts are the best for the more intelligent like us,” Jonathan said further down the corridors that led to one of Arkham’s side exits. “There’s always someone more violent to distract the guards. But you need to be faster during them as the police arrive about 15 minutes after the alarm sounds.”

“Right,” Jervis nodded, actually running with Jonathan this time rather than needing to be pulled along.

They only ran into one guard on their way out, “Wait! Freeze!” one with a gun annoyingly.

Jonathan reached for one of his grenade-like canisters, hoping his uniform would distract the guards’ attention to Jervis, but before he’d even got his finger into the pin a flash of white shot down the hallway at the guard’s head.

“It’s a good thing I refined the design while I was out,” Jervis said, the one to pull Jonathan forward this time past the guard. He took her gun and gestured for Jonathan to do the honours knocking her out so he could reclaim his card from her head.

Out in the grounds of Arkham, dodging searchlights, Jonathan got the chance during a particularly long wait to ask, “How did it stick to her like that?” The card had attached itself to her head entirely by itself simply by being in close proximity thanks to Jervis’ frankly astounding throwing skill.

“The human body produces a very weak electrical charge that it sticks to using static.” Jervis held up the card, this one marked with 1/0. “This is new a lightweight model I designed; 1/0 means all it does is immobilise the target, putting a person into stand-by as it were.  But with a little refinement I hope to be able to make even my 10/6 cards this- Ah!”

“Info-dump on me once we’re out of this dump,” Jonathan said, pulling Jervis on through the gap in the searchlights to freedom beyond the less-than-adequate walls of Arkham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write Jonathan being ridiculously over-rational about his feelings for Jervis.
> 
> P.S. Does anyone know what happened to the Hattercrow writer Crowscrow? All their accounts are gone all over the internet. They had some great fanfics and we used to chat whenever I reviewed 'Black and White'. I miss them.


	3. Shacking- Well, Shedding Up Together

“’”Oh my dear paws!”’” Jervis exclaimed as he landed roughly on the other side of the window Jonathan had pushed him through. Before he even had the chance to get his bearings he got a long foot in the face instead. “’”I wish you wouldn’t squeeze so. I can hardly breathe.”’”

“Then move out of the way,” Jonathan snapped, closing the window behind him as he got off Jervis and stood on firm, wooden ground instead.

Jervis shuffled along the floor, still seated, away from his grumpy companion, taking in the small space they’d now encapsulated themselves in. A large shed really, the door was barricaded completely leaving the only entry point the window somewhat concealed by climbing ivy on the outside. “’”No room at all for any lesson books! What a number of cucumber-frames there must be!”’”

“My possessions are elsewhere,” Jonathan answered to Jervis’ mumblings as he walked over to one side of the narrow room. “It’s useful to have a hiding place near Arkham like this for breakouts, somewhere to change clothes and re-equip yourself.”

Jervis looked at what was in the small shed now. It seemed all but abandoned by the rich folk who rented the allotments outside, probably thanks to the barricaded door, and instead contained a small pile of clothing, what looked like dried food and a first aid kit hidden in the shadows of the old planting benches and tool racks. “’”Yes, that’s about the right distance – but then I wonder what latitude or longitude I’ve got to?”’” he questioned, glancing his gaze at the darkness outside the sole window.

“You’re not going to speak entirely in quotes now, are you?” Jonathan questioned as he put the canisters of fear gas from Arkham beside new ones from in here to take stock. “Your medication can’t have worn off already.”

“No...” Jervis answered softly in his own words, flapping his hands slowly in his lap. “It’s just the... newness of the whole thing. I’m a little lost, if you don’t mind.”

Assuming he wasn’t being literal, because when was Jervis ever that? “The police and guards will be combing the area around Arkham for the next few hours. My suggestion, from experience, is that you sleep here for the night and then move to a proper hideout in the early morning, around 5 or 6am when it’s not suspicious to be out but still quiet.”

Jervis nodded to himself at the good advice, mulling where he might go after this. “’”No, it’ll never do to ask; perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere.”’”

“Ask what?”

Thinking he had been muttering quietly, Jervis startled uneasily. “Oh... well... I don’t have any hideouts yet to go to – I suppose the storage locker I arranged for my things doesn’t count – How... How does one go about acquiring a hideout?”

“Illegally, generally,” Jonathan replied dryly. “If you’re talking about amenities such as water and electricity I can teach you the basics but you’d do better to ask Edward the next time you’re back in Arkham.”

“Back? But I don’t want to go back! I shan’t!”

“You shall,” the more experienced rogue took perhaps a little too much pleasure in saying. “We all do eventually.”

Sinking with somewhat of a moan, “’”It was much pleasanter at home,” thought poor Alice, “when one wasn’t always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn’t gone down that rabbit-hole,”’” Jervis quoted for his own sake.

“I only have spare clothes in my size here,” Jonathan moved on with disregard, knowing by the rest of that quote Jervis was just complaining for complaint’s sake. “You’ll need to change into something so as not to attract attention when you leave.” Jervis looked down at his Arkham jumpsuit, supposing it was rather last year’s colour and therefore likely to turn heads. “I think you could pass in one of my T-shirts and some shorts so long as you tuck the shirt in. And that overbite.”

He was lifting the pile of clothing up onto the workbench now, setting aside the hat of his Arkham guard uniform on an old peg intended for tree-shears. Jervis practised pulling his bottom lip up over his teeth, getting up to find something reflective he could check in. He supposed Jonathan had a point, what with him being a maskless villain and all, but seeing himself in the glass cover of a farmer’s almanac on the wall proved this wasn’t going to cut it if the goal was not looking weird.

“I’m going to change now,” Jonathan said behind him, causing Jervis to turn around again. “Are you going to change now or in the morning?”

“Um... In the morning, I suppose, in case I need to wear them a while.” The shirt of the guard uniform did look rather stiff in the way new, over-ironed shirts did. He couldn’t really blame Jonathan for wanting to change. “You don’t have to change, you know,” Jervis mentioned teasingly. “You know what they say about a man in uniform.”

Jonathan paused, half the buttons of the shirt undone as his frown clearly conveyed he didn’t know. You could practically hear the gears in his head turning as he stared across the room at Jervis.

“I was flirting with you, you twit,” Jervis admonished playfully, waving the whole matter off but smiling at Jonathan’s naiveté.

Now you could hear those very same gears grinding to a clashing halt in Jonathan’s mind. Someone was... flirting... with him? “What?”

“Nothing. It’s very unimportant,” Jervis insisted, looking around the shed for how he might make himself useful.

“It’s very important,” Jonathan countered.

“’”Important – Unimportant – Unimportant – Import-“’” The quote cut off as Jonathan clicked his fingers as commanding an errant dog.

“You like Alice,” Jonathan stated.

“Well, yes.”

“You like pretty blond women who are kind and cheerful,” he made a clearer point of, indicating himself in sharp contrast.

“I thought you were a scientist, Jonathan,” Jervis tutted, continuing before things got nasty, “One point can’t be used to draw anything from. Two is a line. Three is a pattern.”

Still annoyed at anyone daring to insult his scientific status, “Did you notice?”

“Notice what? Was there something to notice?”

“Nothing,” Jonathan told him in that case.

Jervis seemed to be casting his mind back anyway, soon settling on, “Oh! I really didn’t mean to peek, Jonathan. My body was simply beyond my control, that’s all.”

“Peek?”

“In the shower.”

In the... “You were trying to peek too?” Jonathan sighed as he asked.

“Well, it would have been rather obvious at my height, having to stand on tip-toes at the divider and all- _‘Too’_?” Jervis’ face began to light up with recognition.

Jonathan quickly turned away, busying himself removing his current shirt and pulling on a new casual, plaid one in its place.

“ _Jonathan_ ,” Jervis started insistently for attention. “Jonathan, do you mean to say-?”

“It wouldn’t work, Jervis; our situation isn’t suitable for a relationship,” he pre-empted.

“...What?”

“While I agree there are a number of factors that make us considerably well-matched as potential mates, our situation renders those factors irrelevant. It shouldn’t be done.”

“Shouldn’t be... What ‘situation’?” Jervis asked in shock.

“Arkham. Running from the Bat. Our respective mental health conditions,” Jonathan named but a few with his tone.

“Why? Why do those things matter, Jonathan?”

Jonathan dared to glance back, tilting his gaze low past his shoulder somewhere around Jervis’ middle. “You can’t see why?”

“No.” Jervis began striding over, such hard steps for such a small body in soft, Arkham-issue shoes. “No, all I see is the fact that the last person I loved didn’t love me back, and now they do I still don’t get to be with them!” Jonathan paused, being reminded all of sudden just what Jervis had been interned in Arkham this latest time for. “And you wanted to know why I fear reality – Well, there it is, Jonathan!” Jonathan flinched involuntarily at the explosion-like volume and anger of Jervis beside him, although disguised it as a nonchalant turn away with years of practice. “Something so ridiculous, so cruel and bitterly spiteful!”

Neither of them could make eye contact at the best of times but now Jonathan seemed particularly excused as Jervis ranted on, spitting out his words with a venom and heated fury that only came from years of the same experience being packed and packed onto you without reprieve, crystallising the feelings inside you into pure pain- “Jervis,” Jonathan interrupted when he could, being granted a begrudging silence in which to talk. “It is impossible for people like us to avoid being physically injured in this sort of life, to avoid an equal amount of psychological suffering and despair at the hands of the doctors of Arkham and other criminals. And though generally incompetent, the courts of Gotham are not wrong that we are both mentally unstable compared to the average specimen of humanity,” he spelt it all out, as was the only way to make sure it made sense to the both of them. “To allow feelings for each other would only amplify the second-hand distress of watching each other suffer; a relationship would only invite pain we could otherwise avoid.”

Jervis fell quiet now, his presence seeming to calm too. His position remained resolute beside Jonathan but his face shifted subtly through a number of expressions, a procession that felt searching in some way. “...You’re afraid of getting hurt, Jonathan,” he finally said softly.

“I am not afraid of...!” Jonathan felt his fingers shaking where they gripped the wooden edge of the workbench. His breathing was also quickened and his own expression fierce – All signs of anger, not of... of... “Aversion to pain, including psychological forms, is perfectly reasonable,” Jonathan regained himself from his outburst, lifting the jeans he intended to change into; perhaps this present conversation wasn’t the best time for that though.

“Indeed,” Jervis said, lifting himself to sit on the workbench edge; it was cute how little height it actually added to him, “an aversion to unpleasant things is completely natural. But a phobia develops when that aversion becomes obsessive, yes?”

“In essence,” the God of Fear supposed he had to answer.

“Jonathan, you...” Jervis began, then seemed to rethink his next words. He let out the breath they’d been waiting in, instead choosing, “I loved my parents as a child. I particularly loved my father; he was the one who first introduced Lewis Carroll’s works to me. But, just like the White Rabbit Alice followed, he ran away in leading me there.” Realising he was perhaps asking too much of even this literary friend, “He abandoned me, Jonathan; he packed all his things and fled in the night without a single goodbye when I was 12.” Jervis sighed, biting on his lip in that way Jonathan was starting to identify meant he was having autistic troubles finding his own words for what he wanted to say. “I hated him for a time and it made the abandonment less painful. But, you know, in the end I ended up loving him again, despite the extra pain it brings.”

“...Why?”

Jervis couldn’t resist a soft smirk at the confusion all over Jonathan’s face. “I’d tell you that you can’t choose who you love but I know a rational mind like yours needs a more wordy answer than that.” Honestly, it really was rather adorable whenever Jonathan cocked his head in that puppy-like way. Something truly puzzled him about this whole thing. “The rewards of love can outweigh any of its pains, although I’m afraid you’re simply going to have to trust me on what they are; it’s been rather a long while since I truly and wholly experienced them.”

Jonathan took on a new cant of the head, in the other direction this time.

“Dear Lord, Jonathan, if you’re doing maths in there to try and calculate this like some piece of game theory I will slap you,” Jervis told him lightly, although not without sincerity. “It’s not a mathematical subtraction of the bad from the good; the two are too often one and the same with love – Bittersweetness. The ache of longing. The deep satisfaction of a noble sacrifice,” he waited a beat before adding, “S&M.” That one startled Jonathan from his calculations at least. “Ah, what a shame. I was expecting you to blush,” Jervis teased.

For a moment Jonathan almost rose to it. “I understand what you are saying, Jervis. However, with no experience of it personally, it remains a leap of faith for me.”

“Afraid of the unknown?” Jervis grinned.

“You can’t manipulate me into whatever you like with that word,” Jonathan told him pointedly, sharp enough to get through to Jervis that he was being truly serious. Jervis relented with an apology. With a sigh, “This is what I meant,” Jonathan explained; “you’re manipulative while I appear to lack the necessary experiences that allow the emotional connection a relationship requires.”

Jervis shrank at the words, “’He kept shifting from one foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen, and in his confusion he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the bread-and-butter,’” fidgeting with his feet all the while he spoke.

“I’m not going to try and behead you for it,” Jonathan told him lightly, figuring he could change his trousers now.

Jervis looked away for courtesy’s sake. “No, that wasn’t what I...” He felt silent, rubbing very uneasily at the back of his neck. “...We... We can still be friends, can’t we?”

“If you mean like this, an alliance in which we can trust each other for support when needed and have meaningful and entertaining conversations, then yes. I understand and enjoy our... friendship,” he tasted the somewhat alien word but was glad to swallow it.

“Frabjous!” Jervis perked back up, although not without a note of melancholy still Jonathan noted.

Jonathan nodded, finding himself smiling too as he stored the guard uniform and pulled out the roll of bedding he kept in here- Ah.

“’”No room! No room!”’” Jervis assessed, looking at the single-person bedding Jonathan was holding up.

After a further moment that, no, even setting aside all issues of physical contact the two of them couldn’t fit on it together, Jonathan held it out to Jervis. “I’m probably more accustomed to sleeping on hard floors, unless you’ve had different life experiences to what I imagine.”

“Oh... Thank you, Jonathan.” Jervis accepted after a moment wondering if he really could, finding a space on the floor to lie it down. It was hardly the best of bedding – It did actually beat what Arkham had given him though – but watching Jonathan throw down a couple of potato sacks onto the pure wooden beams of the hard floor, Jervis refrained from complaining. “Are you really going to be comfortable on that?”

“I’ll sleep,” was Jonathan’s laconic, slightly smirking reply as he did indeed lie down on the sacks and remove his glasses to set on the floor between them.

The lack of nightstand one would normally employ for such a purpose made Jervis think to ask, “What if I need to... There’s no, erm, _facilities_ in here, Jonathan.”

“You mean if you need to pee?” Almost a hint of a Southern drawl snuck out in the plain-speaking tone.

“You didn’t exactly give me any warning before dragging me out of that place,” Jervis huffed in his defence.

Jonathan simply jerked a thumb at the window, settling his body down on his left side facing Jervis.

Jervis looked at said window, having to point out, “I can’t get back out of that high thing without your help.”

“Just hope you don’t need to pee then.”

Jervis pulled a face Jonathan’s closed eyes didn’t see – The damn man somehow sensed to smirk anyway – as he lay down on his right side facing Jonathan. Through the dull grey light they’d been together in this whole time, “...Thank you, Jonathan, really, for getting me out of there.”

Jonathan tried to shrug it off.

“And thank you for letting me... _shack up_ with you.”

Jonathan’s eyes snapped open in the very weak light, fully able to make out Jervis’ beaming grin a couple of feet away from him despite that. “Suck a nightmare.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?”

After a moment to get what Jervis and his downwards glance were getting at, and then a moment to indeed blush this time, Jonathan reached across and thumped Jervis in the arm through the darkness. “Not one more word out of you.” You could hear the grin in it though.

“’”I only said ‘if’!”’”

“Jervis...” Jonathan warned.

Jervis fell silent but Jonathan thought he might have heard a small chuckle just before he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two, I mean honestly.
> 
> Playing fast and loose with headcanons about Jervis' past here. I have a fully developed past for him I'll be expanding on later in this and also in my other Hattercrow fic ['Monkeys Made of Gingerbread'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307285/chapters/33009693) which is a plot-heavier story set when they've got an established relationship. But let's get them together first!  
> Talking of headcanons, I'll be throwing some Hattercrow ones out on my [Tumblr](http://milsmill.tumblr.com/tagged/Hattercrow-headcanons) as this fic goes on, ones that don't fit or come to me randomly, if you like my interpretation of them.


	4. ‘We don’t feel like we think we should, not like we were taught we would’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from 'Luv, Luv, Luv' by Pansy Division in case you were wondering. It seemed fitting, which, I guess, is the point of a chapter title.

The first touch of pre-dawn lifted the grey light inside the shed from fog-grey to mist-grey. Of course Jonathan woke up instantly; stupid farmboy instincts.

He found himself facing Jervis’ back, the other still sleeping peacefully.

Jonathan propped himself up on an elbow to look up and down the not very considerable length of Jervis’ body, just... checking him.

Leaning over his head particularly, Jervis’ mouth was lying a little open. For once his bottom lip was visible beneath his overbite. Jonathan found himself thinking about his own lips, wetting and then rubbing them together; his own exhales felt so loud and uneven compared to the small, steady breaths of Jervis deep in sleep.

His fingers had found their way into the air just above Jervis without any conscious intention. He refused to let them settle and wake the other man up- Oh... but Jervis’ Arkham shirt was riding up, bearing just the tiniest sliver of beige skin but more than that no doubt letting a draft up his back. Maybe he could just nudge it back down-

Jonathan gave a cat getting an electric shock a good run for its money as he flailingly startled away from Jervis in a mess of limbs, letting out a tiny yelp that definitely got Jervis awake if he hadn’t been seconds ago when Jonathan first touched him.

Jervis pushed himself up on both arms, looking around groggily at the unfamiliar surroundings before thinking to look over his shoulder. Jonathan was lying on his side facing away but fooling no one; you could practically hear his heart pounding from five feet away. “Jonathan?”

After a dubious moment seeing if he could play dead, “...What?”

“Is something wrong? I swear I felt-”

“Nothing.”

Jervis turned around properly now, seated and facing Jonathan. “Yes, exactly. I felt _nothing_ and that woke me up.” He was sure Jonathan had quite the face on currently if he’d bothered to lean over and look instead of sitting here feeling amused with himself. “Should I be concerned by what it was?”

“What do you mean?” Jonathan asked with a hint of caginess.

“Were you trying to inject me with fear toxin, for example?”

“No. Just... your shirt was riding up,” he muttered very smally. “You looked cold.”

Jervis watched him a moment longer, then smiled and settled back down onto his side. “Thank you. I’d do a caucus race to warm up but I don’t think even a mouse would have room for that in here.” He thought he heard Jonathan smiling. Well, he liked to imagine he could hear that. “If that’s all, I can get back to sleep now?”

“Yes. Go back to sleep.”

“All right then.” He turned over with his back to Jonathan as well. Not because of the sharp tone of those words but just that this bedding roll was not the boon he had thought it was when Jonathan gifted it to him. Well, unless it was the floor beneath that was so dreadfully uneven that only facing this way was truly comfortable.

“...Sorry,” came after a very long moment of dim, grey silence.

“I don’t mind, Jonathan,” Jervis replied softly.

“...My body gets the better of me sometimes.”

“...You’re truly attracted to someone like me?”

“What do you mean?”

It was a strange thing, this talking in the near-dark with their backs to each other. But it seemed to fit the situation somehow. “I’m hardly the most... generally attractive fellow,” Jervis said.

“Aren’t you?”

“...Are you incredibly sheltered or just outright stupid?”

“You sound like Edward now. ...And I am that attracted to you.”

“...Thank you.”

...

...

“...You’re really attracted to me as well?” Jonathan asked.

“Well, yes; I’m in love with you. ...Or at least I think about you with nearly every waking moment, what you’d say about something, whether you’d like this thing or that, what you’re doing right now. That’s what love has felt like in the past for me.”

“I think they call that obsession, Jervis.”

“No, that’s what they call a terrible and horrifically over-priced cologne,” Jervis said glibly. “...I guess it could be called a little obsessive; perhaps the doctors are right are me...”

“Rarely. Some people are simply more intense about certain things than the norm. People call _me_ obsessive about fear.”

...

...

“You were meant to say something there, Jervis.”

“Oh. ‘Hatta looked round and nodded, and went on with his bread and butter.’”

“...Why did you use a quote?”

“...’”I want a clean cup,” said the Hatter; “let’s all move one place on.”’”

“I should have tried to inject you with fear toxin after all.”

“You’re a mean March Hare.”

The silence seemed to lapse properly this time, both men actually attempting to fall back to sleep.

Of course the attempting of the sleep is the one thing most guaranteed not to give it to you. Jonathan found the effort making him uncomfortably aware of every part of his body, of everything he could and couldn’t make out in front of him in the low light. And most of it, not unpleasantly, every tiny noise and movement Jervis made.

His body rebelling in his cell at Arkham, with at least two thick glass walls between them and numerous people around to distract him with their inanity and fascinating fears, was one thing. In this small space, only feet away from Jervis with nothing but air between them- “Jervis?”

“Mmm, what?” he hummed tiredly. “I was just about falling back off...”

“You really wouldn’t be bothered by the potential for pain that a relationship between us would inevitably bring?”

There really was no point in trying to second-guess Jonathan Crane; it was his lack of social skills that left him the most inscrutable even when he wasn’t be deliberately obfuscating, which accounted for 90% of the time anyway. “No,” Jervis answered honestly, for the sake of not having to think much. “You’d be worth it, Jonathan.”

“...Really? Me?”

“Well, now I’m past the initial overbearing level of smugness I’m becoming quite fond of Edward too-”

“Edward?!” And that was the thing that finally got Jonathan to roll over facing him.

Jervis rolled onto his back, smirking. “Ah, there’s not a man alive who isn’t slave to jealousy. As a friend, Jonathan,” he clarified. “Although you never know with these things; love has a habit of completely blind-siding one, typically with the strength and general destructive results of a ten-tonne truck.”

Jonathan tried not to descend into a childishly jealous sulk, he really did. He eventually managed to substitute it for a consternated frown. “How does one get rid of these sorts of feelings to prevent them causing trouble like that?”

“’“Really, now you ask me-“’ _Me_ , of all people, Jonathan? I wouldn’t be here if I knew of a way to give up on love.” But, with a sigh that admitted he might not be the best judge of these things, “I’ve heard lust-based infatuations tend to fade simply with time. Or certain people love for the conquest of it; once they ‘win’ their object of desire they lose interest then. But I don’t think you’re the sort for that.”

“No,” Jonathan admitted the best he could with his limited knowledge. “I don’t believe it’s merely lust either; it’s not just sexual attraction...” So that left him with... He sighed. “Well, thank you for tolerating my questions anyway, Jervis. Particularly at this time of day.” If it could even be called ‘day’ yet.

“Oh, I don’t mind, Jonathan. It’s nice to feel wanted, really,” he admitted with a little whimsy as if he might be daydreaming about where things could lead.

“Is it?” Jonathan genuinely asked. “To me it feels... uncomfortable,” he decided.

“...Oh,” Jervis said very softly, everything about him seeming to drop although he was already lying on his back. His hands fiddled on his stomach with each other, trying to find the courage to summon a very uncomfortable, “S-Sorry. I shall try not to bother you with it again.” And with that he turned his back to Jonathan once more.

Well, that seemed rather... peculiar? Jonathan hadn’t expected or wanted an apology for it. No, he had simply meant- oh. OH. “Jervis, I used the wrong word; I didn’t mean to imply your feelings for me made me uncomfortable, certainly not like your feelings for Alice likely made her feel.” He saw Jervis tense with the mere mention of that name. “I should have used the word ‘strange’; being wanted, in any capacity, is not something I am at all accustomed to. It leaves me very uncertain how to react but that is not to say I find it unpleasant and wish it to stop.”

Jervis softened, turning onto his back again to ask, “Truly?”

“Yes.” Jonathan found himself reaching out but, unsure what his hand would do if he let it listen to his instincts, settled for resting it on Jervis’ shoulder instead.

“Thank you, Jonathan.”

No more needed to be said now. No more should probably be said now considering the time. They curled up once more on their sides, facing each other now, intending to sleep again.

“I don’t understand why you like love so much, Jervis,” Jonathan added as a final thought, “but I trust your judgement that there must be something good about it and will happily tolerate its existence going forward.”

Jervis chuckled briefly. “You’re a strange one indeed, Jonathan Crane.”

~#~

It was actually a decent time that he would charitably call morning the next time Jervis awoke.

He had turned over at some point from what he last remembered, leaving him facing the wall instead of Jonathan’s ‘bedding’. Everything was remarkably still and peaceful – More peaceful even than his mornings in the days of working for Wayne Tech and before interestingly – with only one quiet noise from behind him.

It was a rhythmic one, coming in short instances with pauses between. A rubbing sound- No, a little too rough for that. It was uneven and smooth at once, a textured sort of noise. Jervis was having too much fun trying to work out what it was to turn over and just see. It certainly wasn’t a dangerous sort of noise, nor a concerning one; it was pleasant actually, both stimulating and calming at once.

He turned over with a suspicion as quietly and calmly as possible, taking in Jonathan sat against the wall of the shed completely consumed by the piece of green garden twine in his hands, holding it with one set of fascinated fingers as he ran the nails of his other finger and thumb down it repeatedly from end to end. He was at a true peace for once, everything about the world from his situation to his past and even himself forgotten. Jervis hated to break that but, “You’re stimming.”

Jonathan startled with a child-like innocence, regaining his adult self in a moment as he lowered his hands to a casual-looking position.

“I’m sorry,” Jervis confessed. “I didn’t meant to stop you. You just looked so content for once that I wanted to, well.” He pushed himself up to sitting, testing with a crouch if he could approach in a way that felt far too familiar to trying to befriend a stray cat.

Jonathan seemed more accepting of company than most of his feline attempts however, not moving except to hold up his twine across a palm to look at it as Jervis came to sit beside him. “Great-Granny used to punish me for any obviously atypical stims like hand-flapping, saying things about idle hands being the Devil’s workshop or that I looked as if I was possessed. She used to treat me as if I actually _was_ possessed the times I had a meltdown.”

“The age at which autistic traits become apparent correlates with the old stories about the age at which fairies would come and steal human children, leaving a changeling baby in their place,” Jervis added off-hand.

“Changeling.” Jonathan smiled about it, giving a little laugh as if it were fitting. “Neither of us knew back then. I wasn’t diagnosed until- Well, I diagnosed myself. Arkham was the first place to give me the official seal of approval however.” He looked askance at Jervis.

“12. Certain things like quoting Carroll seem terribly cute and intelligent in a child; less so when they haven’t grown out of it by secondary school.”

Jonathan spared him a smile reserved for cute things, a smile that, yes, surprisingly Jonathan Crane did have in his emotional repertoire. He returned to his piece of twine, stroking it more meditatively and slowly this time. “People always make fun of me for wearing burlap and such in my Scarecrow costumes... I couldn’t care less what they think quite truthfully. But I like wearing it; I like the feel of burlap, hessian, jute...” He focused on the twine more closely. “Twine has a different feel to string, have you ever noticed? There’s no comfort to it, nothing unnecessary. Something like silk is almost useless except for the pleasure of how it feels; it’s like fiction, a fantasy. Practical fabrics feel real, visceral. The world of humans is all show, acting pleasantly with nothing but hollow or cruel thoughts inside; it’s slimy like silk. The natural world might be uncaring and rough but it’s real, honest. Burlap is an honest fabric,” he finished. “That’s what I think about when I stim like this, although not in so many words.”

Jervis couldn’t help but let out a partially stifled laugh.

Jonathan seemed to take it in good enough spirits. “Even if I hated the people there, I liked where I grew up. I miss how raw and real things were down in Georgia.”

“Oh definitely. I grew up in the countryside as well – I should say that in England it’s the affluent people who live in the countryside mostly these days; we don’t have a lot of it to go around,” Jervis explained. “I spent some time in cities in England- Well, if you could consider Oxford a city comparable to others. But Gotham, even just America in general, there’s a terrible artifice to it all versus the grounded history of England. They attempt to put history into things here, the buildings and architecture, but you can’t simply _put_ history where you want it.”

“Yes! Yes, it’s all so... empty here in Gotham; most of the places I rob or terrorise don’t have a bit of character,” Jonathan agreed eagerly. “I’ve never heard anyone else realise that. I tried to tell Edward once but he grew up in the north-east, so far as I can gather, so he doesn’t know how to see the difference.”

“Ah, you can’t blame a dormouse for sleep-walking through life a little,” Jervis commented, mainly to amuse himself. He looked at Jonathan but it was hard to tell just what Jonathan was smiling about in that child-like yet unsettlingly intense way. “Do the parks here also bother you?” Jervis asked genuinely. “Everyone seems to treat them like an actual piece of nature just because there’s a lawn and a couple of trees. But the paths are all paved!”

“Wouldn’t want all those China-made, mall-bought shoes to get muddy now,” Jonathan took pleasure in joining in with the mocking.

“You think it would kill them to walk on a dirt path,” Jervis muttered. “Even if they made one here though it would be the same as the buildings. It wouldn’t be the proper kind, one of those ones that don’t get muddy even after torrential rain thanks to centuries of feet walking them.”

Jonathan groaned with unrestrained pleasure. “You’re going to force me to take you to Georgia with me talking like that, I do swear. This city is utterly suffocating sometimes.” He held his twine like a lifeline now, sliding the palm of his whole curled fist down it.

Jervis chuckled. “You lived on a farm, if I’m right? What was that like? I only lived near one.”

“Working it, hell. Living on it, heaven. Acres ‘a land, backwoods, natural water features that weren’ polluted death-traps,” Jonathan stopped sharply, giving a glance if Jervis had noticed his old accent breaking out.

“What I miss most is never being more than five minutes away from somewhere with no people,” Jervis said yearningly, facing straight ahead instead of at Jonathan. “The only escape in this city is indoors, and that’s no real escape at all- Oh, tell me!” He suddenly clasped his hands together eagerly, turning to Jonathan. “Do all roosters crow four hours after sunrise or did our village just have a particularly defective specimen?”

Jonathan chuckled a little. “It depends on the rooster. That one was particularly defective by the sounds of it.”

Jervis tutted as he settled again. “It always annoys me when they show someone being woken up halfway across a village by rooster on TV and such too.”

“They’re not the loudest things in real life, are they? That’s the problem with letting city folk write everything.”

“None of them have ever slept within three miles of cow during summer, I can tell you that,” Jervis agreed.

Jonathan laughed properly and truly. “Lord, on some nights when there wasn’t a car going through I could hear the cows from the next town over!”

“3am?”

“2am, but it’s hotter in Georgia.”

“Good Lord,” Jervis agreed.

He noticed Jonathan staring at him after a long moment of silence, the smile from his laughter still on his face. Jervis raised a questioning eyebrow to prompt him.

“Is this love?” Jonathan asked seriously, without any degree of kidding. “This... _this_.”

“You mean our sharing stories like this?”

“No, this... knowing what each other means, having the same feelings about things and being able to share that; is this what love is?”

Jervis had to stare at him, and no Jonathan really wasn’t kidding. “What did you think love was, if I can ask?” Jervis checked, mainly to defer giving an answer he wasn’t quite sure of himself.

“A combination of both romantic and sexual attraction towards another human being- Or perhaps simply the romantic part? I’m not entirely sure,” Jonathan admitted. “Everyone on TV and in movies already seems to understand what constitutes love and what exactly romantic attraction is. I believe it encapsulates desires such as wanting to go on dates to restaurants and hold hands and similar things.” Jervis gave him the chance to go on, given this was both fascinating and hilarious. “I’m not entirely sure if I feel that towards you, Jervis. The idea of holding hands interests me mainly from a curiosity of what pleasant sensation it supposedly produces – Perhaps it triggers the psychological association of safety most people have from the time when their parents would hold hands with them as a child? – I don’t have any desire to go to restaurants and eat with you though- But then again, I do enjoy your company while in the cafeteria at Arkham, actually. Eating is naturally a social activity to human beings given our hunter-gatherer ancestry so I understand the principle of eating together to deepen a social and emotional bond between two people-”

“Okay, yes. Yes,” Jervis stopped him there because he really couldn’t take any more without laughing. “A lot of your psychological analysis is, as might be expected for you, likely accurate for the biological and evolutionary principles involved in romance. It’s rather devoid from what we talking about before however, the sharing of emotions, I think you’ll agree?”

“Yes. That’s what I don’t understand. Perhaps I was simply paying attention to the surface elements however...”

Jervis dragged him out from becoming absorbed for the next hour in musing on that with, “What you were talking about, what we have between us, I think is called an emotional connection. It’s what underlies most friendships, family relationships and yes, also romantic relationships.”

“Oh. So it’s not love?”

“Well... People do say they love their family, and their friends if they’re truly good friends. It may well be the common thread to all that could be called ‘love’, yes,” Jervis supposed.

“Is this how you feel about Alice Pleasance then?”

And in an instant everything Jervis thought he supposed came to a screeching halt. Jonathan could see the haunted, deeply troubled look on Jervis’ face but it didn’t seem necessary or prurient to say or do anything.

The look settled heavily on Jervis’ face, causing him to tuck up his knees to press his lower face into. “...I see why people call this the ‘cold’ light of dawn,” he finally said very quietly, so quietly Jonathan barely caught it.

“You didn’t love her?”

Jervis sighed. “I think to love, and to be loved, takes both caring and understanding. There are plenty of people out there I could understand if I cared to, that could relate through similar experiences as we have for example. ...And then there are those people you care about without understanding.”

Jonathan sat quietly, giving Jervis his space as he tried to understand this himself. Yes, these words made more sense: Caring – Being concerned with the well-being of another human being or creature. Understanding – Being able to interpret another being’s experiences into recognisable ones of your own. Then...

“I suppose Alice and I cared for one another but we never truly understood each other, no...” Jervis sighed as if it was his life itself leaving him. “’Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance...’”

“Why didn’t you understand each other?” Jonathan asked, just so he could get Jervis to say something else than things that seemed to make him suffer. And maybe a little clinical curiosity too, yes.

Jervis gave another sigh, although a less worrying one this time. “Someone as pretty, carefree, lovable as Alice; how could she ever understand the life as someone as wretched as me? No, I wouldn’t have wanted her to anyway; the poor thing would have just been made unhappy if she could ever understand a life like mine. And...” he started, then dared to go on, “I’m not sure I truly wanted to understand Alice, a mind who could love someone like that Billy – All looks and surface without two brain cells to rub together; ‘”he’s perfectly idiotic!”’ – Perhaps I was afraid of what I’d find, because I subconsciously sensed that... I have this mind that always wants to get inside someone’s head and completely understand how they work, I suppose to feel a little more in control of my environment, and for that my only interest lies in people that actually have something in there to understand. Alice was never quite the... She had the enviable blissful ignorance of a child,” he decided to put it.

“She didn’t seem that clever to me from what I saw on TV,” Jonathan decided to put it much more bluntly. “Not someone intelligent enough for you, Jervis.”

Jervis shared a sideways look with Jonathan for a moment, sighing. “It’s a curse at times, isn’t it? Intelligence.”

“It can be,” Jonathan said. “But that’s only when you’re surrounded by people who can’t appreciate it.”

“You sound like the Dormouse, March Hare.”

“I’ve always understood Edward. I suppose I’ve never cared about him though, not truly- Ah, it makes sense now!” Jonathan said with a proper glee.

Jervis chuckled. “You have that desire to get inside people’s heads completely and utterly too, perhaps even more than I.”

“It’s what we get thrown in Arkham for, I think. Or perhaps it’s an autistic thing to lessen the unknown and feel more control, as you said.” Jonathan mused on it, comfortable either way. More importantly, “I feel like I’m having a warm light of dawn; I understand why people would want this feeling.”

“Being loved?”

“And loving someone. I didn’t think it was possible to feel understood like this...” he sounded almost dazed with the bliss of it.

But then he looked at Jervis, still so miserably staring into the middle distance of the shed over his knees. Thinking a moment more, Jonathan reached across to offer the end of his bit of twine to Jervis. The gesture did serve to raise Jervis’ head with a slightly uplifted surprise but he didn’t take it just yet.

“What’s wrong? Do you not love me after all either?” Jonathan asked.

“No, it’s just...” Jervis sighed, reaching out to stroke the twine and then sit quietly for a while, stimming with it just as Jonathan had first done. The rhythmic action soothed them both, the gentle sound of Jervis’ nails on the rough surface as Jonathan held the other end filling any silence that might have been uncomfortable. “...It’s just not what I expected love to be like, all this,” Jervis finally said.

“Is it better?”

“No, it’s too confusing for that.”

“Well, is it worse?”

“...No,” Jervis admitted. “It’s simply... different. I... I don’t know what to do, where to go with it.” He toyed with the end of the twine instead of stroking it, twisting it round a finger. “I don’t like feeling so... out of control of the whole thing.”

“Fear of the unknown?” Jonathan checked just to put it into his own language. “Are there hard and fast rules you have to follow with a relationship or else?”

“Or else what?”

Or else... Well, that was a good point; if the normal police couldn’t find them Jonathan supposed they didn’t have anything to fear from any form of relationship-police either. “In that case I intend to simply follow my emotional instincts; they appear to be more intelligent in these matters than the rational part of my brain given they sensed this potential to understand one another almost instantly, much quicker than I understood all this.”

“Simply follow what we want?” Jervis asked. “But what if we wanted jam today? ‘”You couldn’t have it if you _did_ want it. The rule is, jam tomorrow and jam yesterday – but never jam today.”’”

“What _are_ you saying?” Jonathan had to ask. “I thought you said there were no rules.”

“No, I simply meant- But if they don’t align -” He sighed, giving up. “Um, so I suppose we should kiss now?”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“It seems like what we ought to do.”

“Is it what you want to do?” Jonathan repeated more firmly.

Jervis stared him in the face, gaze on Jonathan’s thin and pale lips in the slight light of dawn. He bit on his own lip, a little shamefully admitting, “N-No, not really.”

“We’ll wait then,” Jonathan said, taking his twine back to start stroking again.

“But what if the time when we both want it never comes?” Jervis nervously asked.

“Then we don’t do it.”

“But...” Jervis tried to object.

“What do you want to do right now, Jervis?”

Jervis hemmed a few more moments, giving no answer, but then shuffled over the few inches between them to fit himself snuggly to Jonathan’s side, wrapping his smaller arms around Jonathan’s dangling arm as if he was clinging on for dear life. He leant his head against the warmth of Jonathan’s arm, simply letting himself rest and try to be at ease.

Even with the clinging Jonathan had enough room to move his lower arm and stroke the twine rhythmically again, smiling as he let Jervis watch him stimming without either needing to say a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That rooster Jervis talks of is a real rooster that lives in my village. In summer, when the sun rises at 4am in England, he doesn’t crow until 8am. In winter, when the sun rises at 8am, that fucker doesn’t crow until midday. The cows though – Oh God, the cows...
> 
> More seriously I see both Jonathan and Jervis as quite neurodivergent – They’re literally branded ‘criminally insane’ after all – and thus I think any relationship they had would be quite atypical, at least by the standards on TV and in stories. I don’t feel the standard '“I love you” + “I love you back” + Kiss = Relationship, now have sex' model really fits them, and is one of the main reasons I love this ship. Instead acts of emotional intimacy are far more meaningful and important with their traumatic upbringings and atypical emotional psychology. Anything that requires vulnerability, like trust and conceding control, are the watch-moments to look for instead of kisses and sex – Although that will come! Those things are secondary though to the immense effort and unusualness of being emotionally intimate for these two with their less-than-stellar lives so far.


	5. Cardboard Boxes

“This is where you live?” Jervis asked in bewilderment as he followed Jonathan into the front hall, not sure which word of the sentence to emphasise.

“One of the places,” Jonathan said casually, already taking his shoes off as Great-Granny’s ingrained rules told him to but kicking them into the shoe area of the hall to spite her.

Jervis stared around the massive, gothic and antique house again, finally spluttering indignantly, “I lived in a two-room apartment all the time I worked at Wayne Tech as a law-abiding citizen and the likes of you get to live in not just one but multiple practical mansions?!”

Jonathan smirked now he got Jervis’ point. “If it makes you feel any better I didn’t pay for it; Edward fudges the ownership documents to make the hideouts legally ours if you do him a favour in return.”

Jervis let out an unintelligible noise of pure frustration that was a delight to hear, getting on with the business of removing his shoes and then grabbing the bag of their possessions to go find a room he could change in – Given all he had was the costume he’d been arrested in, even Jonathan’s baggy clothes had been a safer bet trying to be inconspicuous on the way here.

Jonathan went to make tea, imagining that might smooth things over. After that came the grand tour, which only really consisted of, “This is my laboratory; stay out,” pointing out the bathrooms and saying Jervis was welcome to use any other room as he pleased. Then it was finally time to spend a little time just being free, showering for as long as they pleased, eating as much as they wanted and just being able to do nothing at their own pace.

~#~

It was early afternoon by the time Jervis dropped himself into a seat beside Jonathan in the ‘library’, a second breakfast having merged into lunch for most of the morning and midday. Even Jonathan would willingly admit having such a full stomach had made him sleepy and he was more staring at the comforting pages of the book he had open in front of him than reading them, sat in one of the comfortable, sun-lit armchairs like a very large cat. “What now?” Jervis asked.

It took Jonathan a moment to even go, “Hmm?”

“What do we do now?” Jervis clarified.

“What do you want to do now?”

“That’s just the thing; I don’t quite know. Last time I had a lot of things to put in order, things of mine to collect, storage to arrange-”

“Necks to sever,” Jonathan added.

“For the record,” Jervis really wanted to say, “I really wasn’t myself during that episode. I felt quite sick about the whole thing afterwards – All the blood I got on my poor peacoat... – but I believe 34 years of suffering and being put down rather caught up on me and I needed to release it all, as it were. I don’t imagine it’ll happen again now I’ve gotten it out of my system.”

“I would imagine not,” Jonathan agreed in an expert tone. All he really had to say about the whole thing was, “You’re 34?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You’re older than me.” Jonathan’s tone implied he’d thought otherwise.

“Only by seven months- We’re getting a little off the point,” Jervis reminded. “What does one do now?”

“Whatever one wants; you’re finally free now.”

“You believe that the mad are the only truly free individuals?” Jervis had to dryly ask.

“Not in that simplistic sense. But you’ve been labelled ‘criminally insane’ now; you can do whatever you please, break any rule you please in pursuit of your goals and get off without any more punishment than the poor bedding and food at Arkham,” Jonathan said, supposing it was worth placing a bookmark in his book at this point since this was obviously going to be a more than passing conversation. “Does that excite or terrify you?”

Jervis rolled his eyes lest he get trapped into any admission of fear. “I suppose there were those card ideas I would never have been able to get approval for at Wayne Tech- Oh! My research! I promised you my research on activating the limbic system!”

Jonathan sat up now as well. “Is it in the storage locker you rented?” Jervis nodded. “What false name did you use?”

“Charles Lutwidge.”

Jonathan was the one to roll his eyes this time. “We’d best get your things out of there before Batman finds it; he’s going to know Lewis Carroll’s real first and middle name, you fool.”

“Oh.”

“Pick a new name – Something not Carroll-related – and we’ll go get you set up properly.” Jonathan pushed himself up from his seat with a groaned sigh. “You better hope you have something to offer Edward...”

Jervis remained seated for a moment, watching Jonathan go to the point he had to turn around and kneel in his armchair, looking over the back at Jonathan leaving the room. “...Does he like tea?”

~#~

Jonathan was back in a couple of hours, pulling down the hood of the hoodie he’d used as a disguise and unloading the half a dozen cardboard boxes of Jervis’ stuff he’d brought in a car – He never mentioned it was his car but Jervis thought it was better to stop asking about these things – Once they were all unloaded in the entrance hall, sitting in just two small stacks, “A pitiful pile for a pitiful life,” Jervis summed up, looking at them.

“Being light on possessions is useful in this life,” Jonathan advised, walking out of the entrance hall into another room and coming back with a marker pen. He crouched by the boxes, taking one and marking ‘JT’ on all the sides of it before setting it aside. “Split everything up into three sets of clothes and other daily possessions – You’ll need to get multiple of things like toothbrushes and toiletries – and split them between the other boxes. Everything absolutely valuable, that you can’t replace or would be heartbroken if you lost, goes in this box.” He indicated the one he’d initialled for Jervis.

“In just that?”

“This one will go in a super safe storage we all use, one owned by Edward instead of any third party that might sell you out or go bust. You can trust this’ll be safe,” Jonathan explained. “Anything going in the other boxes will be split between other hideouts so you’ve always got at least some clothes and basics somewhere in the city. I’ve only had my things confiscated from a hideout once in my early days; it’s generally safe so long as you don’t lead Batman or the police back to them. But sometimes mice and other problems get in while you’re away and damage them.”

“R-Right...” Jervis looked not all too happy with the arrangement.

“If you don’t want to live like this then go back to Arkham and go through their treatment program,” Jonathan said simply. “I won’t be coming with you, even despite...” He didn’t know what to call _this_ and therefore ignored it. “I need to live this life free of constraints on my research for the time being so that I can do certain things that wouldn’t be possible within society’s rules.”

“I-I’m not going to-! ’For the time being’?” Jervis questioned rather than panic about the idea of being separated.

Jonathan shrugged. “I might jump back through their hoops some day if there’s something I need from that lifestyle, or when the ‘criminal’ parts of my research are complete so that I can share it with the world properly.”

“Share it with...?” Aware he was turning into a parrot, “You have an end goal to your research, Jonathan?”

Jonathan looked at him with a wariness, a defensive distrust that was based in learned instinct Jervis could tell. But he appeared to overcome it by choice to say, “If I truly come to understand fear, become the Master of Fear, I will have the power to create and rid anyone of fear. If, as I hypothesise, fear is at the root of all human behaviour then I will also be able to control the behaviour of anyone to prevent bad behaviour and promote good behaviour that is currently being held back by fear. It could be a whole new age of human thought and social organisation, comparable to the paradigmatic shift when quantum science was discovered compared to the Newtonian science of before! A whole new age of humanity when we move from just being able to control and adapt our environment to our needs to being able to control and adapt ourselves as well!” He caught himself on Jervis’ bizarre, observing expression and coughed, rubbing the side of his head in an attempt to look casual after the maniacal expression he had had before. “M-My medication is starting to wear off; Scarecrow is coming back out a little.”

“Oh. Anything I ought to be afraid of?” Jervis asked, and grinned when Jonathan gave him a look.

“That’s another thing; do you want to stay on any of your medication outside of Arkham?” To the blank expression he got, “Some of us continue to take some of our medications even when we’re free to avoid the side-effects of coming off and on or because we accept we actually need them.”

Unsure, “Do you take any medication on the outside?” Jervis asked.

“...One of the two kinds I take in Arkham, at a lower dose,” Jonathan answered defensively. “I don’t care for the medication that suppresses Scarecrow – The side-effects to that are minimal anyway – but the medication for my...” He stared at Jervis long enough to see if he’d be asked, then comfortably refused to say.

Jervis nodded. “I’m not quite sure what size I want to be,” he paraphrased. “But if the side-effects coming off are anything like coming on... Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take some of each side of the mushroom with me.”

“I need to get some more of my medication anyway; we can pick up yours while we’re there. What do you take?”

“...Erm...”

What proceeded was the medical version of Pictionary practically, Jervis more describing what the pills looked like until Jonathan could take a guess by matching them to Jervis’ diagnosed conditions. The good doctor then diagnosed both the conditions and the medications were completely inappropriate and told Jervis what he ought to be on instead, if he actually needed any medication. Since the one he recommended was the one Jonathan himself took they could see how he went without anything for now, then start Jervis on that if he needed it.

Along with that he ran through the other things Jervis was going to need now – New bank accounts, a new phone, not hideouts as he could share with Jonathan, connections in the criminal world and lessons about how to hire good hench-help – “A lot of this all seems to revolve around the Dormouse,” Jervis made a point of around halfway though.

“Edward keeps his nose in everyone’s business; he’s an information broker as much as a Riddler. He also has the skills to do these things like make a private phone network we can talk on without being traced, even to outside numbers, and move money from your frozen bank account to a new one. Even when he’s in Arkham he has an arrangement with Oswald to keep things like our underground phone network running as Oswald uses them too- You are aware of Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, I presume?”

“Oh certainly; it’s hard to miss a caterpillar like that really.” Jonathan almost smirked that Jervis had a role for him already. “I suppose it never really was a secret he didn’t truly return to the straight and narrow last year despite his new lounge and all.”

“No. You’ll get to go there now you’re one of us,” Jonathan offered if that was the sort of thing Jervis considered a perk. “Well, in a while. You’ll need to survive a few more months or internments in Arkham to prove you’re not just a Maxie Zeus or Calendar-Man.”

“I can’t be, say, sponsored by an existing member?” Jervis gave Jonathan a suggestive smile, then added, “Is that the term? I don’t know anything about these sorts of things.”

“As has been proven many times so far in this conversation. But you seem to be picking things up fast,” Jonathan threw him a bone.

“Thank you. Although in this case I’m not sure that’s the sort of thing that should be commended.”

Jervis remembered to dig that research Jonathan wanted out at the end as compensation for all this. While the electronics and circuit diagrams were gibberish to him that he’d leave to Jervis, the neurological parts were very acceptable payment.

Jervis watched Jonathan losing himself obsessively in the sheets within seconds of them being placed in his hands, devouring with a hunter’s instinct as he skimmed to the specific parts on the amygdala and anything to do with fear first. Before he let completely Jonathan lose himself, “I-I just wanted to say, Jonathan.” After a moment Jonathan’s attention half-dragged itself away to listen. “What you said earlier, about your research goals; they’re awfully impressive, amazing really. I truly admire you, as a fellow scientist. I wish I had such goals for my own research.”

“Your freedom from society’s conventions and rules will be a great opportunity to find that,” Jonathan told him. “I didn’t formulate my goals until I became the Scarecrow proper, until I had the mental freedom to let myself dream. I’m sure you’ll find something similar in time, Jervis; I look forward to it.” And with that Jonathan turned his full attention back to the research documents.

Jervis definitely felt himself blushing terribly, hand instinctively covering it despite his skin tone and fact no one was looking anyway. “...T-Thank you, Jonathan.”

He set the electronic parts of the research back in the box they’d come from, just to be tidy. But then he paused, pulling out some other of the files buried at the bottom that had come up with them, opening the folder and flicking through.

Suppression of total pain reaction...

Disabling of all voluntary movement...

Activating the neurological mechanisms that caused compulsory truth-telling...

Jervis let the folder marked ‘Ideas’ fall shut even with many of the pages unviewed. He’d dreamt of it, of general anaesthetic, tasers, truth serum and their problems all being rendered obsolete for a new era of intervention directly at the brain. He’d set them all aside because of the countless opportunities for misuses he had known would get the projects thrown out as soon as he so much mentioned the title.

But now...

~#~

Jonathan appeared in the kitchen doorway, unable to resist the alluring mystery of the smell any longer. “You cook?” he asked, watching Jervis stirring something on the stove.

Jervis only jumped a little to his credit. “Well, it is rather necessary to survive- Although, going by the entirely dried, canned and ‘instant’ contents of your cupboards...”

“Great-Granny taught me it was a woman’s job to cook, not mine despite how much I would have liked to learn. I’ve since had rather more important things pressing on my concern most of the time, although I have tried.” Jonathan walked up to the stove, looking down at what was in the saucepan. It wasn’t anything he recognised as having been stored here, not that that meant much with the fact he just bought things with the longest use by dates possible. “What is that?”

“Dried couscous, tinned chilli-flavoured kidney beans and frozen peas; I didn’t have much to work with,” Jervis said, if he needed a defence.

“It smells good.”

“Thank you. Where are the plates? ‘The oddest part of all was, that whenever she looked hard at any shelf, to make out exactly what it had on it, that particular shelf was always quite empty; though the others round it were crowded as full as they could hold.’”

Jonathan opened a top cupboard and reached up, taking a stack of all two plates stored there down to place on the side. “I’ll put them somewhere lower next time.”

Jervis tutted about that, then frowned at the plates for a moment before shaking his head lightly.

“What?” Jonathan asked.

“Oh... nothing. Are those the only plates you have?”

“Yes. I bought one set and split them around. Be glad this is one of the places that ended up with two.”

Jervis gave them one of those mild frowns again, but then seemed to put the matter aside.

“What?”

“It’s nothing really, just a cultural thing; I prefer not to eat off white crockery if I have a choice, that’s all.”

Jonathan looked down at the plain, white plates, frowning at them as well now but in confusion. Arkham had those thick plastic, coloured plates they served children with so that explained why it was the first time he was hearing of this. Still, “What...? I’ve not heard of...” He stopped himself, then admitted, “I apologise in advance for not knowing the correct way to phrase this but I am from a rather conservative part of the south remember. Why do you...? Is that why...? ...You have brown skin,” Jonathan finally settled for, admitting defeat.

Jervis chuckled. “You mean what ethnicity am I?”

“That would be the question I was looking for most likely, yes.”

“I’m part-Anglo-Romani, a quarter by blood but a larger part by cultural identity.” Noting the continued frown, “What’s colloquially and derogatorily referred to as a ‘gypsy’.”

“Oh.”

“White is the colour we associate with the dead. While we therefore consider a lot of white animals, particularly white cats, good luck because they’re like the ghosts of parted relatives, to eat or drink off the dead is a little disrespectful, that’s all.”

“We had some gy- Romani pass through our town once when I was a child; Great-Granny had all sorts of bad things to say about them,” Jonathan said, his way of processing the fact most probably.

“Which groups were ever spared that treatment of hers?” Jervis took a knowing guess.

“They seemed all right to me, although I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere near them.”

“America is on the whole kinder to us than Europe actually, I have noted,” Jervis said, drawing the plates over to serve up anyway. “In most of Europe antiziganism is as bad as anti-Semitism, or worse.”

“We’ll get new plates,” was the point Jonathan had been moving towards.

“Thank you. Did you know, two traditional Romani stories appear in _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ , a baby turning into a pig and a girl stealing eggs being confused for a serpent?” Jervis info-dumped excitably, clapping his hands together, but then realised himself, “Ah, but a tale for another time! You have questions about my research?” he took a guess, indicating the paper files in Jonathan’s hand he’d brought in with him.

“Yes, a few.” They each grabbed their plate, bringing them to the dust-sticky and rather spindly kitchen table to eat as they discussed.

It was mostly small neurology and technology things Jonathan needed a little extra explanation on, but he had a few ideas and proposals to put to Jervis based in his own expertise that expanded on the original research in fair return.

By the end of the meal Jervis was genuinely impressed, and renewed. Combined with earlier’s thoughts, “I think I might be starting to see the scientific potential of this new freedom, Jonathan,” he admitted as they took their plates over to wash up. “There are a number of research ideas and avenues I had written off before that I can finally take now. All I need are the supplies to.”

“Well, your options are to steal them directly or else find the money to purchase them somehow,” Jonathan advised. “I find the former preferable; less variables and other actors involved which both increase risk.”

“Which is why I see news of you breaking into Gotham University’s Chemistry labs about once every other month for supplies, I suppose. You know, I could have set my calendar by your little break-ins.” Jonathan ignored him and his slightly teasing tone. “You must not get much each time if you have to keep going back so, and half the time these days it lands you in Arkham you’ve become so predictable.” Now he got a glare about it, “No, no! Just a little advice, if you wanted it!” Jervis defended with his hands up, quoting about giving himself very good advice but very seldom taking it for his own sake before continuing. “Practically all chemicals and technological supplies in Gotham come in through Axis Labs since that large merger a few years back; we used to order all ours from there at Wayne Tech. I placed a lot of orders there myself. If you wanted a much broader pick of chemicals at much larger quantities from somewhere that won’t be expecting you...”

Jonathan got his first look at a devious smile he would, over the coming years, get very used to. “You only want me along because you’re scared of going alone.”

“Perhaps,” Jervis would readily admit, “but I’m not a chemist and chemical names can get oh-so-confusing, and even if I wanted to pick you up something as a thank you for letting me stay here I can only carry so much-”

Jonathan cut him off with a hard sigh. “Fine...” Jervis grinned in devious delight. “You don’t even need those cards half the time; you’re manipulative enough anyway.”

Jervis mock-gasped, placing a hand to his chest. “You wound me with your- Ew...” Five seconds late he realised he had still had the soapy, wet washing-up glove on when he did that, leaving him now with a large, dark wet patch on his blue shirt.

Jonathan laughed, and Jervis decided to let him; Jonathan didn’t get enough to laugh about in this life.

~#~

“So, erm,” Jervis started, then thought to step back outside the room Jonathan was currently using as a study to read in so he could knock on the open door for politeness. “So, erm,” Jervis started again, walking in without actually waiting for a reply to his knock. Jonathan watched all this was amusement, and perhaps a little concern for the mental health of his friend. “Where shall I sleep tonight, Jonathan? I noticed at least two rooms with beds upstairs, although only one single bed was dressed. I assume that is your chosen room?”

“That’s where I tend to sleep, although I haven’t changed the bedclothes since I was suddenly taken into Arkham months ago actually,” he remembered now. Jervis pulled quite the little face of disgust at that. “May I presume you were subtly referring to the use of the one double bed in the master bedroom by the two of us together perhaps?” Oh, Jonathan took a lot of pleasure in how Jervis squirmed and blushed now, practically proving all his ulterior motives in coming in here to ask.

“W-Well, I mean, we d-did sleep close next to each other last night in the shed, e-even if that was on separate bedding-”

“There is some bedclothes for that bed in the room’s wardrobe, I think,” Jonathan said before the stammering got really excessive. “You’re welcome to go and dress it if you like. I’ll share it for the sake of hygiene.”

Jervis flushed happily, nodding and about to run off eagerly when, “...Just how exactly did you come by this house of yours, March Hare?” he paused to ask.

“The family that lived here put it up for sale and I bought it- Well, Edward did his whole thing with false names and all but still.” He thought it best to leave out his part in having made the house go on sale in the first place depending on why Jervis was asking – Horror movies had such good ideas for transforming such simple suburban houses into places of haunted terror sometimes.

Jervis nodded along, thinking to ask, “Did you change the mattress? I mean, if a _family_ lived here before and that’s the master bedroom mightn’t they have-”

“Jervis,” Jonathan cut in for Jervis’ own sake, “you were not the first person to have that cell and cot in Arkham either, although I doubt Arnold Wesker got up to much with it except sleeping to be honest.” Well, there was that sock puppet they sometimes gave him as part of his recovery that he might have- Great, now both of them were having intrusive, uncomfortable thoughts. “The family took their mattress with them,” he focused on. “That is one from an old hideout of mine, and while it may be infested with some sort of small, black and yellow bugs – I’m not certain about that; fear toxin isn't intended to be used as bug spray – and endless amounts of dust, I can assure you no one has ever had sex on it.”

Jervis considered that for a moment, perhaps particularly the bugs, then looked back to smirk at Jonathan. “Good to know.”

Jonathan would have thrown something at the little pest if he didn’t have only books to hand currently. “You’re going to have to adjust to a lower condition of living, you know. At least until you get a little more established as you like.”

To that Jervis merely shrugged a bit. “I may be mad but I still have standards, Jonathan.”

Jonathan was left rolling his eyes, returning to his book as Jervis disappeared off to the master bedroom alone.

Quite some time, perhaps a couple of hours, seemed to have passed when Jonathan re-emerged from his current book, at least going by the crick in his neck. Rubbing at that, and cursing such side-effects of autistic hyper-focus, he made his way to a bathroom in a little haste – Another of those side-effects – before heading onto the master bedroom of the house, if Jervis was going to make such a fuss about it.

The lights were off throughout the house including that room, although the hallway curtains had been left drawn for light for navigation, he presumed. Jervis appeared to be asleep already in the inviting-looking bed with all its covers and pillows, one side left completely free for him with the corner of the duvet folded back in a perfect, welcoming triangle. Jonathan changed silently, having had the forethought to pick up the old, cotton clothes he used as pyjamas on the way here. Lifting up the covers and climbing into bed though-

Jervis stirred quite dozily at first, then seemed to realise what had woken him had been movement of something else very close to him, in the same bed as him, and he startled up and away as if he presumed an imminent attack.

Jonathan paused, really not accustomed to this sort of situation. Jervis had calmed the instant he recognised who precisely had disturbed him but the residual panic that had flooded his system remained, breathing light and fast while his general heart-pounding trembling was apparent enough at this close range even in the dark. “Sorry,” Jonathan started.

Jervis waved a hand around, struggling for a long moment for any words. “’”Why, I do believe we’ve been under this tree the whole time! Everything’s just as it was!”’”

The use of a quote didn’t surprise him, but Jonathan took it that one was a positive one to be hearing right now. “Just me coming to bed. Nothing else,” he confirmed.

It did seem to settle Jervis somewhat. He tried to settle back down again, lying on his side facing Jonathan across the pillows. “I’ve never shared a bed with someone before. I didn’t realise quite how,” He gave an experimental movement of his body, bouncing the mattress a little even with his small weight, “like being on a rocking ship this was. Are you sure this isn’t a waterbed mattress?”

“No,” Jonathan answered. “It must be all the bugs.” He was pretty sure he saw Jervis’ eyes narrow in the dark. But lying down properly himself, and in doing also upsetting the balance of the whole thing, “Hm.” Jonathan saw the point; this sharing a bed thing was going to take some getting used to. How did anyone get used to this? Did they get a friend to practice with during adolescence in anticipation of relationships? Or did they simply have enough drunken one-night stands that one was thrown in at the deep end, as it were?

“I’ll endeavour not to turn over too much,” Jervis promised, settling down to sleep.

Even the tiny movements of that disturbed Jonathan though; perhaps this hadn’t been such a great idea to agree to after-

Jonathan was the one who nearly leapt out of bed ready for an imminent attack this time as something touched his hand under the covers. When it flinched away, large enough to lift the covers a little at least – He wasn’t joking about the bugs by the way – he realised it was just Jervis’ hand, reached out to touch his.

Jonathan settled back down with all the dignified obliviousness of a cat insisting it hadn’t just utterly embarrassed itself by rolling off the chair arm it was sleeping on in its sleep. He bumped his hand back against Jervis’, confirming he didn’t mind the gesture now he knew what it was.

“Scaredy-cat,” Jervis teased, slipping his fingers into the gap of Jonathan’s palm lightly.

Jonathan closed his fingers with a pincer grip for the accusation, causing a laughing wince from Jervis.

Once Jonathan released him, Jervis took the chance to entwine his fingers properly with Jonathan’s longer ones.

Under the covers, in this warm little space between them, Jonathan squeezed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Compared to the others, Jervis has always struck me more as the kind of case where he became a criminal against his will and was like, welp, guess I better start doing crime now.
> 
> Everything Jervis says about Anglo-Romani culture is completely true. The existence of those two stories Carroll used makes me partial to this headcanon for him, as well as just loving the diversity. It'll be more relevant again down the line.


	6. Folie à Deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy, have a really long, new chapter! I think it's my favourite of all the ones I have planned for this story for the thematic undercurrents running through it and all that literary shiz.

Work began the next morning on planning a heist of Axis Labs’ storage warehouse. If it was undertaken with a high level of care they could both be stocked for months or even years with the quantities and selection Axis had, so a single, very well-planned job was instantly agreed to be the best approach by both of the scientist-first, criminal-second rogues. Nothing fancy, it was agreed; no trying out of new, untested technology that might fail them or alerting any other rogues who might accidentally or ‘accidentally’ mention their plans to someone. Everything would be about getting in, getting as many supplies as possible and getting out safely and quietly.

Jervis had been to functions put on by Axis Labs a few times while working for Wayne Tech, mostly ridiculously pomp-filled parties he’d only been dragged to by the promise of Alice being there – “Did you spike her drinks?” “Of course not! I’m a neurologist; I know what alcohol does to a brain. Why would I ever want to damage Alice’s precious brain like that?” – It seemed to matter little at first as the warehouse was an entirely separate building to the one they hired for those functions, but, “Axis always invited all of their employees to these parties, even the security,” Jervis explained. “On those night there would only be a skeleton or temp crew guarding the labs I imagine.”

“Is one of these parties coming up soon?”

“They always tended to do one around this time of the year, something to do with the financial calendar I think,” Jervis waved off such silly, regular-person time-based matters. “I can find out the exact date easily online but I think we should still have a few weeks. That ought to be enough time to prepare for one of these things, yes?” he asked the experienced expert.

“Likely. I’ve had longer-planned projects fail or be thwarted, but rarely do spur-of-the-moment ones work out well. A few weeks for this scale sounds appropriate to me.”

Smiling with pleasure at the whole thing, “’”I don’t see how he can _ever_ finish, if he doesn’t begin,”’” Jervis looked to Jonathan to get started then.

The important things were getting in and out, what to pick up from where once inside and being prepared in case of being caught in the act by security or the Bat.

The first involved a lot of looking up schematics online and in old planning application documents stored in the rooms under one of the nearby libraries – Jonathan looked so at-home in a library no one even recognised him walking straight in undisguised to take a look and photograph them for Jervis – and then arguing back and forth over the various options of windows, doors and other entry points.

For the second they couldn’t find more than a basic layout for the contents of the warehouse but it seemed an Amazon-like operation, all run with computers and machines that moved along lines on the floor fetching orders from number-marked locations. Once inside it ought to be easy enough to find things so long as they found some map, list or method that would let them navigate the sprawling mega-mart of a scientist’s wet dream.

Finally, both of them had just about enough supplies to make a little more fear toxin and cards in preparation for company. Jervis did terribly want to rework the design of his cards with all sorts of ideas he’d had the time to work out in Arkham, but he stuck to the rule of nothing untested in the field and settled for the thought of what wonderful cards he could make for next time if this exercise went well. Jonathan’s main decision meanwhile was whether to bring his scythe or not; it would get in the way, be extra weight to carry and probably not be necessary. But he liked his scythe. He settled for a lot of syringes in the end, accepting a necessary sacrifice for the greater good this time.

Jervis found the date for them, a rather innocuous Friday evening around when he’d expected. The weather would be dry but overcast – Jonathan made a point of teaching that even things like the weather needed to be taken into account for true success at these endeavours – no particularly special events were taking place elsewhere in the city and there was nothing on the calendar to suggest people would be acting out of their expected routine.

There was a lot to teach Jervis about the best way to conduct this line of business, Jonathan found himself sitting back to muse one evening when he’d spent far too long looking over the party’s guest list he’d managed to dig up online – Really, what did it matter to them to know that useless socialites like Bruce Wayne were going to be there? – But for all he was having to teach Jervis the _best_ way to do these things, Jervis never seemed short of some way to do them.

He had an aptitude for the sort of considerations and activities involved in this lifestyle that had personally taken Jonathan years to develop through trial and error practice, the ‘error’ part of which had often involved broken bones and being thrown back into Arkham. He’d really been at the level of robbing convenience stores at gunpoint, if with loftier goals in the long-run, when he started out. But Jervis...

When he had asked one time, after complimenting Jervis on a particularly good spot in the schematics that told them where the temperature-sensitive supplies would be, Jervis had simply said the whole thing was rather like writing a mission for a spy story, in an excitable and child-like way, and that seemed to be his whole secret.

Their... relationship, if that was the right word for the atypical _something_ between them didn’t seem to be progressing much over the weeks of planning this. Jonathan had, frankly, expected Jervis to be pushing each step and the next as soon as he could given his obviously romantic nature. But maybe it was normal for it to take this long to move between the steps of bodily physical contact to kissing, for instance; it certainly seemed to take couples a long time to get married, so they must be filling that time somehow rather than waiting around for no reason. Maybe it did make sense then.

The thought of Jervis and himself getting married crossed Jonathan’s mind for the first time at that point, a natural association really. The idea was... strange. It seemed so strange it didn’t really bother him either way to think of – Things could only affect you emotionally if they were realistic, after all; it was the same principle as a good horror story – but the idea of that being the purpose of all this... Well, there were still many steps between here and there. As with science, it was probably best not to look too many ahead in case it biased your current actions towards one outcome or the other.

Still, as he ventured down to the kitchen to see what Jervis was cooking for lunch today, Jonathan found himself caught in the doorway by the new area of thoughts it had opened up in his mind.

Jervis was wearing jeans, socks and a slightly oversized, blue and white plaid shirt, one of those thicker, softer ones, this particular one with a thin, grey hood and drawstrings attached to the collar. It seemed to be a favourite of Jervis’, and he did look undeniably cute in it. He seemed to favour a lot of casual clothes with hoods like that, sensory protection or comfort he’d alluded to once – Jonathan couldn’t say he didn’t feel the same about his Scarecrow mask sometimes – Normally the idea of anyone he was relying upon having problems and needs like that annoyed Jonathan, the risk of them getting in his way for instance. But with Jervis he only found he understand, that he knew what it felt like that; he sympathised. It felt strangely good to think of Jervis finding comfort from his troubles, as good as the idea of Jonathan himself finding comfort.

This was love, another nuanced layer of it he’d been able to figure out. Fascinating.

Watching Jervis do the simplest of things, washing his hands, filling drinks to go with lunch, wearing normal clothes, Jonathan took a moment to bask in the realisation they were two human beings in love behind all the madness, costumed vigilantes and crime. And it made enough sense that Jonathan could assuage his worries it was simply a cruel, passing trick of his hormones: Jervis was in this for science and academic freedom, not spectacle and fame like Edward and the Joker or power and money like Oswald and Harvey, for just one of many examples. No, Jervis simply was...

Jervis startled skittishly at arms suddenly coming around him from behind, an appropriate and therefore not at all embarrassing reaction he’d argue if you had asked him. The scent had become familiar enough to know whose nose tip was currently resting in his hair, watching the last preparations of lunch over his head. “Jonathan?” Jervis questioned if there was a purpose to all this.

Jonathan waited a moment before saying, “You’re nervous.”

“Yes, grabbing someone from behind without warning does tend to provoke a nervous disposition in them, you know,” Jervis returned dryly in play.

“No, more than that; I know how to recognise all symptoms of nerves, anxiety and such for my research.” He released Jervis just in case that was provoking it though.

Jervis sighed a little, admitting, “I suppose this whole affair on Friday has me somewhat wound. ‘”Now I can do no more, whatever happens. What _will_ become of me?”’ Sometimes I simply wish the whole thing was over, one way or the other, just to get it done.”

“That sort of impatience and desire simply to ‘get it done’ is what leads to poor mistakes and rushed judgement,” Jonathan warned a little sternly. “If you’ve got time to be impatient, you ought to be using it to prepare more thoroughly instead.”

“I’m sorry,” Jervis apologised in response to his scolding. “But what else is there to do now?” he near huffed.

“A little exercise wouldn’t go amiss, to get your body ready. Although I’d hold off on the couple of days beforehand in case you over-exert yourself injuriously.” Jervis had yet to get muscular and/or lean in the way almost all the rogues did from a life of Arkham food and running from crime scenes; you couldn’t say this job didn’t come without some health perks, although all the broken ribs probably more than offset them. “Aside from that, focus on remaining healthy and relaxed, cultivating a focused mindset at optimal psychological arousal to be alert but not over-reactive on the night.”

“Well, it all sounds so easy when you talk about it like that...” Jervis muttered petulantly, focusing on finishing the pocket sandwiches they were having for lunch right now. His tone implied he would reluctantly take the advice in the end though, however much it made him pout.

Jonathan wasn’t quite sure what Jervis found to occupy his afternoon in pursuit of that end after lunch. In the evening, after Jonathan had taken one of his turns at cooking, Jervis joined him on the sofa of the living room to watch a documentary on the rise of the occult’s popularity in the late 19th and early 20th century. Well, Jonathan suspected it was more for the ‘joining him’ part than the documentary.

Especially when, after a few less-than-subtle shifts closer to him, Jervis dared to ask during one of the muted advert breaks, “C-Can I lean against your side, Jonathan?” It only took a moment of dubious frowning for Jervis to hurriedly add, “No, it’s not for any specific purpose. I-I simply wanted the contact,” before swirling his forefingers around each other in one of his nervous tics.

He was still nervous in general about Friday then. Although they hadn’t acknowledged or established it in words, it was clearly apparent both of them enjoyed the small pieces of physical contact they engaged in so far, alien though they were to both men, perhaps clear enough it didn’t need to be said now.

Still, “Physical contact promotes the release of oxytocin. If you’re anxious and stressed it would help with relaxation, or it could be for its social bonding properties either deliberately on your part or subconsciously guided by your established attraction to me...” he trailed off, noticing the small smile of true amusement on Jervis’ face looking up at him. “I-I was simply-“

“I don’t mind, Jonathan,” Jervis assured him. “I understand why you always want to work these things out with logic and science; we can’t control these desires of ours, but if we know why and how they work then at least we can predict their future behaviour and control in preparation for that.” Jonathan was sure he blinked owlishly at that, given how Jervis chuckled and smiled so much more fondly. What? Jervis was just so correct. “It’s always about control for us.”

It always was, just as he said. Be that directly, or through a vector like fear.

Which was why, come Friday evening, Jonathan could very easily take an educated guess when he found Jervis sat in costume on the stairs fiddling with worrying unease at his hat and repeating Carroll poems over to himself in a dry-sounding mouth. “You haven’t managed to get rid of your nerves about tonight?” Jonathan diagnosed, and simply by looking at him added, “They seem to have gotten worse.”

And worse still for them being pointed out, as Jervis snapped up to look at him with a trembling tongue and twitching hands. “S-So- I’m s-sorry, Jonathan... I-I wasn’t really thinking when I did my last- And this time you’re going to be there with me and-”

“I’m not angry,” Jonathan made clear, supposing Jervis’ ability to read his neutral expression was impaired currently. “Much of fear comes from fear of the unknown; I know that you are aware of that.” Jervis managed an automatic-looking nod. “The unknown scares us because we can have no control over that which we do not know and understand. Of course you want to control what will happen tonight with so much at state, so therefore you want to know what will happen. But yet you also understand that you can’t know what will happen and thus your awareness of that circles around inside you, aiming to keep it at the forefront of your mind.”

“Why? Or, I suppose the more important question is what to do about it,” Jervis said.

Jonathan couldn’t repress a small smile, perhaps of pride, that ‘why’ had been the first question out of Jervis’ mouth. For anyone else it would have been enough to address the second, but Jervis of all people ought to know the answer to the first; Jonathan relished that he’d actually been given a chance to answer the first. “Anxiety and nervousness are close enough to fear that I think we can consider them the same for the purposes of this, yes?” Jervis’ nod was enthusiastic this time, yet perhaps scared to admit he was feeling fear to the Scarecrow of all people. “Fear is energy,” he dictated slowly for emphasis, and Jonathan could see in an instant he’d struck a new and deep resonance in Jervis. He held his breath for a moment that he really had found someone who might finally understand. “Consider fear a form of psychological energy; the heightened state it puts you in makes you ready to expend yourself more intensely both physically and mentally, a sensible preparation when a potential threat is perceived. It’s energy which needs to be converted to be put to use though; by itself fear is generally paralysing.” He gestured at Jervis’ worried state in front of him.

“I... I do feel very full of an energy, one that has nowhere to go as you said circling around inside of me,” Jervis agreed, seeming calmer for admitting it and yet even more on the edge of his seat on the stairs.

“You’ve felt how much power is contained within that energy though, whenever you’ve made the effort to be brave and overcome it or had your fight-or-flight reaction activate,” Jonathan continued. “In such states, often accompanied by adrenaline, the human body is in one of its most powerful and extraordinary states possible. But as I said, fear needs to be converted in order for that to happen. The fear inside you right now is an energy, Jervis,” He hoped it wasn’t too much of a presumption, or cliché, to reach out with a finger and touch Jervis’ chest by his heart, “one you can choose how to convert. Fear isn’t anything to be ashamed of or hate yourself for as I used to; you just need to develop the strength needed to convert it so that you can let it power you.”

Jervis continued to stare at the finger pressed to his chest, until Jonathan got embarrassed that it probably was terribly corny and took it away. Then Jervis was looking up at him with such a reverence, an understanding; he might actually get it. Just maybe...! “...A-Are you scared right now, Jonathan?” Jervis asked, still a little new and uncertain in an almost foal-like way.

“I have done this sort of thing numerous times and thus it is a lot less of an unknown to me, but as there are still some unknowns, yes I am a little,” Jonathan admitted honestly. But he was more excited to add, even if he was just shoving an info-dump in Jervis’ face while he had the chance, “Although I am not narrow-minded enough to claim it is the only source of psychological energy, I think fear is one of the deepest, purest and most primary of sources given it’s very primal roots. It should be to Psychology what hydrogen or carbon are to Chemistry, and it will be once my research is properly recognised! So many other emotions like anger or relief are just conversions of fear in most cases that when people finally understand that, when that new world I dream of comes-!” He cut himself off at the way Jervis was now chuckling. Well, at least if he was laughing and smiling he must be a bit less nervous.

It seemed a good time to go then.

Jonathan joined in with the conversations about their costumes, tales from past Axis parties, and interesting dogs and street signs they passed that Jervis wanted to have on the way there; they were a small relaxation and outlet of energy, something that kept Jervis at a closer to optimal level of psychological arousal than forcing him to sit in silence and simply let the nervous energy swirl and build inside him.

Everything had been planned and explained right down to where they would park to be close yet not conspicuous to the target; Jervis understood the reasons and logic behind the plan at each stage and you could see so, phatic conversation falling silent with no needless questions about what now or his next action. They had a plan to follow, and that meant control. Jonathan could hear the slightly uncomfortable hurry in Jervis’ pace, could see his cautious over-attention to their surroundings as they made their way to the shadowed back of the building to begin.

As much as he hated how like Batman it felt, the winching grappling hook he’d ‘permanently borrowed’ from Edward took them up to the warehouse’s high, back windows with easy speed. Jervis pulled out a more modern version of the brown paper and treacle trick from inside his peacoat pockets, affixing it to the window to break it silently before Jonathan manoeuvred them both through the now-empty frame and lowered them to the floor inside.

Each went their separate ways in an instant, seeking maps or lists at first but quickly realising each shelf of supplies was labelled both at the end and above each section; it was like they wanted to be stolen from.

The security cameras watching them from corners on-high were ignored, too much fuss and waste of time that could be spent getting out before anyone arrived to catch them. Just for the hell of it, since he could, Jonathan took the time to flip one of the cameras off as he ran by, smirking behind his mask.

Jervis found more of his conscious attention going to preventing himself looking round or calling out to Jonathan to check how he was doing than his actual work locating the electronic contents he needed and running about collecting the small cardboard boxes to shove into his bag.

If anything, the whole endeavour grew tedious as the minutes of reading long, boring codes on the box labels steadily ticked along. He occasionally heard small noises from elsewhere, or so he thought, and each time calmed himself that such a small noise had to be Jonathan or simply the wind considering the racket the Jabberwock always made when it whiffled and burbled its way into one of his crime scenes.

Jervis was down to spare components he thought he might need, or that were rare and expensive for their resale/trade value, when something that was definitely very loud crashed through one of the high windows of the warehouse to join them. The sound was almost deafeningly loud in his heightened state but Jervis still found himself muttering, “Honestly; brown paper and treacle...” as he looked about in a panic for Jonathan-

No, no! That wasn’t the plan! The plan – What was the plan for if Batman came again?!

Run.

Jervis was about 90% sure the plan had been run and make sure at least one of them got out with the supplies safely. The 10% that was unsure decided it liked the sound of that plan anyway.

Jervis began to run.

Such small electronic components were relatively light, just bulky, to run with as he headed back to their entry point. The bag swung and bashed at his legs but any attempt to readjust it more comfortably would require time or deceleration he couldn’t afford; he suffered the pain, adrenaline rendering it mostly numb in any case.

He saw Jonathan reach the rope they’d left dangling ahead of him down one of the warehouse’s towering, straight corridors.

Jonathan saw him running at top speed, twenty seconds away at a guess, and waited by, securing his own bag to his back.

Pure instinct prompted Jonathan to push the rope widely out to one side as he saw a dark shadow cut through the air above them, batarang aiming to sever their escape route missing by inches thanks to that. Batman himself was down in the corridor between the two of them when Jonathan looked again, having dropped into position facing Jervis and with all attention on the Mad Hatter.

Jervis had come to a complete halt, black and white spats now looking ready to move in the complete opposite direction as he yearned to back off from Batman in fear, if only it wasn’t for the same fear paralysing him to the spot. You could read from his terrified, panicking face alone that a posh, British version of, “Crap, crap, crap!” was running on loop in his head as he stared up at the daunting nightmare stood before him.

“Give it up, Tetch, and you can get out of this without getting hurt at least,” Batman warned, beginning to stalk towards Jervis at a confident, menacing pace.

Jervis truly froze with fear at that point, leaning back in such a way that he looked as if he might simply tip over his internally restrained desire to run away. Even his gaze seemed trapped, overwhelmed by the sheer level of fear coursing through him.

Then, in a moment, the energy shifted inside him.

Even Batman stopped, sensing the difference that was like a spiral reversing; no longer heading inwards, it was all about to come rushing out.

Jervis spun on his heel without a thought, swinging his large bag out to the limit of his reach and channelling all of that angular momentum into it. With a single spin, quicker than Batman could even grab anything to throw, Jervis caught the end of his bag around one of the thin, metal columns that held up the shelves, straps of the bag catching with a jerk as they hit the metal and transferring all of that force into them to bring the entire 12’ shelf toppling towards Batman.

Jervis leapt through the gap created with an Olympian jump before the shelf was even halfway down, clearing it easily into the next corridor. He swung the bag again as he began running, catching a batarang mid-flight in a perfect defensive block with a timing that meant he’d either picked the single sound of it being thrown out of the crashing down of the shelf and all the test tubes on it, or else that he’d completely predicted the Bat would throw one in the narrow gap he got before having much bigger problems to deal with.

Jonathan barely got himself together to grab the rope and winch button in time before Jervis had sprinted up that new corridor and around to him, latching his body onto Jonathan’s ready to be lifted to safety. Jervis pulled them both through the empty pane once up there at a speed Jonathan could barely keep up with, somehow in the process getting control of the grappling hook’s winch. He dropped them both without a single moment’s pause or thought, even causing Jonathan’s stomach to drop with a primitive fear of falling, stopping them with perfect timing to step straight onto the ground ready to run away.

Jonathan grabbed Jervis in that moment without a thought, fingers burying into his hair and under his hat to pull Jervis’ mouth to his. Much of the kiss was inexperienced burlap and teeth crashing together but through the gap ripped into his mask their lips pressed together, both dry from running and with the zigzagged threads of the mask’s mouth caught between them, but they pressed together in a first kiss nonetheless.

He got it! _You actually get it!_

Jonathan’s hand found Jervis’ to help detach the grappling hook from the warehouse’s overhanging roof, the whirring of its retraction filling the gap between them after the kiss ended. They were each left staring into shadowed, blue eyes framed by the eyeholes of Jonathan’s mask, barely two inches apart and all the other could see; the first instance of eye contact like that, an overwhelming baring of everything they normally had to hide, of confirmation, questions and surprise.

The snap of the grappling hook broke the moment for them, Jonathan the one slightly faster off the mark this time as he grabbed Jervis and ran away with him into the night.

Their car peeled away from the scene before Batman had even gotten out of the warehouse.

~#~

Jonathan laughed as Jervis turned on the lights then immediately gave a cartoonish panic and flicked them back off, looking around in fear as if their entrance hall lights were a second Batsignal and a dark, swooping arrest was now imminent.

Finishing removal of his high boots, Jonathan came over and flicked them back on, standing over Jervis and not hiding his amused smile. “Once we make it home the game’s over in most cases, unless someone’s still in danger or you’re the Joker.”

“O-Oh,” Jervis exhaled nervously, still giving the light switch a suspicious look. “It’s just the way he always tracks you back to your hideouts on TV and such...”

“You mean in the cartoons and movies about us? They have to contrive it that way in those; Batman’s the hero so he always needs to ‘save the day’ at the end. In real life his track record is far less impressive. Embellishing it gives the people of Gotham reassurance however.” He watched Jervis consider a number of things, one of which probably the fact he was going to be in those popular movies and cartoons soon going by the way he started to grin. “If we make it to sunrise without uninvited guests the Bat will have gone to bed and someone else will no doubt be up to trouble by the time he wakes again; consider us off his radar at that point. Sleep will make that time come quicker.” He led the way in climbing the stairs to punctuate that point.

Jervis followed, using one of the house’s other bathrooms to tidy himself up and change. He joined Jonathan in the bedroom already in his pastel blue pyjama T-shirt and shorts, climbing under the covers to lie on his back, hands folded properly and stiffly on his chest, instead of on his side as he usually did for sleep. Jonathan, sat up and removing his glasses currently, wasn’t surprised to look over and hear him say, “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight, Jonathan.”

“The adrenaline will take time to work its way out of your system; yes, I doubt you will.” He lay down on his side, propped up on one elbow to better observe his partner though.

Jervis’ eyes slid over to him at least. “I apologise. After all your experience with this sort of thing I imagine you’re as sleepy as the Dormouse right now.”

Jonathan still felt himself smiling, and hoped Jervis could see it even in the dark of their room. “True, repeated exposure to committing crime has lessened its psychological effects on me. It does tend to be first times that provoke this sort of prolonged, heightened state of psychological arousal,” He ran fingers through Jervis’ soft hair with the hand he’d previously been supporting himself with, twirling part around just his forefinger, “the reasoning being the same as why the events of such firsts tend to replay over and over in the mind afterwards, or so I find; analysing every facet of a new, important experience like this is valuable for future survival, but repeated instances simply refine that first impression.”

Jervis seemed to have lost control of his jaw at some point during all that, given his small gape. He leant a little, as if he wanted to turn onto his side towards Jonathan, but didn’t want to disturb the hand still fussing his hair. “Y-You mean... That is, y-you’re talking about our first...?”

“That was amazing,” Jonathan said, his hand retreating to lean on again. “I could practically see it, the moment you took your fear and converted it into power like that! You seemed almost as if you used it to enter a flow state instantly the way you moved with such instinct- Ah, of course you know what ‘flow’ is; you’re brilliant! – It took me years to achieve that with my fear conversions; sometimes I still can’t. But you did it on your first attempt! How did you ever manage that?!” he practically gushed.

“O-Oh, you were talking about that...” Jervis chuckled a little, pushing himself up to lean back against the pillows.

“Oh,” Jonathan also agreed, the manic joy dropping into nervousness on his face. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Well, our... W-We kissed,” Jervis admitted awkwardly, self-conscious of his over-romantic nature.

“A-Ah...” Jonathan figured he had better sit up at least a little as well if they were going to talk about that. “I’m sorry about that, Jervis.”

“Sorry?” Jervis twitched with a sad fear. “Oh. You regret it?”

“Not... I let my instincts get the better of my self-control and jeopardised our escape potentially because of it, and also I should have asked so you had the chance to consent.” Jonathan fiddled with loose threads on the sheet edge, channelling his shame into worrying at them.

“Oh, I don’t much mind all that, Jonathan,” he replied more cheerfully. “We got away safely, didn’t we? And the whole thing was rather romantic really.”

Jonathan looked up, checking Jervis truly meant what he said. He’d managed to give Jervis a first kiss that he considered ‘romantic’; that was quite the relieving joy. “In that case I do not regret it,” he made clear, in case. “I was a little overcome seeing that you really understood it, my explanation of fear as a potential energy; you must truly understand it if you were able to put it into practice like that, is what I realised.”

“Yes. In the depths of the moments I was standing before the Jabberwock, when I realised how terrified I was, it prompted those words of yours that ‘fear is energy’ and...” He gestured to everything that had followed. “I don’t really recall how I managed all that,” he laughed; “I listened to my instincts, stepped outside of myself and the narrow sort of way fear gives you to think in – I felt more like some sort of cartoon character to be honest; I can’t believe it all actually worked!”

“That’s the potential of the energy to go beyond your normal limits, if you just know how to use it!” Jonathan enthused, leaning forward on both elbows like some lovestruck teenager.

“Yes, it made theoretical sense from the moment you explained it to me, but now I can truly feel the fact it works,” Jervis said, before Jonathan got too excited and went off on one yet again. “It... really convinced me of what you’re doing, Jonathan,” he dared to add. “That it’s not simply hopeful pipe dreams and theoretical ideas getting a bit above themselves; you really do understand something everyone else doesn’t with all this fear talk.”

“...Thank you.” Jonathan’s excitement appeared to have gone so high at that point it had looped back to a breathless near-immobility. “I am so impressed with you, Jervis.”

By all rights, Jervis ought to have been whistling like a kettle with how hot his cheeks flushed then. “I-It wasn’t- I-I-I just wanted to make you proud, Jonathan. I especially didn’t want to let you down tonight; I wasn’t sure where it would leave our relationship if I wasn’t able to pull my weight in this part of our association.”

“Well, you’d still be worth keeping around to cook and clean,” Jonathan joked briefly, earning him a peeved frown. “I had my doubts about your involvement tonight as well,” he admitted honestly. “Past partnerships and employed help have rarely done anything but completely let me down, leaving me steadily cold to the whole idea. But now I’m truly amazed by the potential in an effective partnership like ours; it’s incomparable.”

“Well, I’ll endeavour to keep up then,” Jervis grinned.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had a job go perfectly like that before,” Jonathan continued, joy still bubbling away. “With this being the first time I’ve had a perfect heist, an effective partnership with someone, seen anyone truly understand my life’s work and kiss,” he admitted the last with a slightly stuttering blush, “I don’t believe I’ll be getting to sleep any time soon either tonight.” He gave Jervis a companionable smile at the end, settling down into the pillows beside him.

“Well,” Jervis shifted a bit closer, arms brushing together and his hand sliding down to find Jonathan’s, “what _are_ we to do to pass the time then, lying together like this in a bed?”

Oh dear. Here was that blush again... “One kiss and you’re already willing to have sex with me? You’re more of a hussy than I thought, Jervis.”

Jervis gaped in scandalised disbelief at the word, implication or maybe joke as a whole. “Well!” His teeth clicked as they shut, tutting indignantly. “You ask an innocent question and _this_ is the sort of answer one gets around here, is it?!”

Laughing, Jonathan pulled Jervis over into an embrace. For all they had physical contact sometimes, it was still yet to be a casual thing between them with mutual inexperience and hypersensitivity. Jervis remained tense against Jonathan’s chest for a long time, only even showing his comfort with the hug by eventually sliding one arm around Jonathan’s middle and tucking his head in the space under Jonathan’s chin.

Long limbs closed around Jervis, first arms and then legs too, entwining themselves around his shorter ones. It was a little too like being consumed by a spider to be exactly comforting, but the quickened heart rate he could feel beneath his light fingertips, “...Sometimes I doubted it, you know.” Jervis tilted his head up slightly, bumping it against the jaw above gently enough to be more of a concerned nuzzle. “My theories about fear, its potential. Sometimes, on weaker days, I find myself questioning if I am just mad, as they all label me. But the fact that you were able to understand it, put it into use... Thank you, Jervis.”

Jervis tilted his head down again, simply staring into Jonathan’s shoulder and the bit of the covers he could see over it. “Even if you are mad, that doesn’t mean you’re wrong, you know,” he said, squeezing Jonathan lightly in comfort. “’”If everybody minded their own business, the world would go round a deal faster than it does,”’ when we go around dismissing people’s ideas just for being mad. But then again I’m mad; what do I know?” He gave a small shrug.

Jonathan chuckled. “Ah, wonderful; they can add ‘folie à deux’ to our diagnosis lists now!” he celebrated with sarcastic delight, allowing Jervis his turn to chuckle. Jonathan remained quiet though, eventually giving a small exhale. “The medication I willingly take outside of Arkham, hydroxyzine; it’s an antihistamine technically but has anti-anxiety, antiobsessive and antipsychotic effects. It’s not commonly used for... my condition, but it has few side-effects and seems effective on me.” Jervis sensed to wait, until Jonathan managed to mumble into the crown of his head, “I have PTSD.”

“From what your great-grandmother did?”

He could only nod. “That’s why I started working on understanding fear; I’m trying to find a cure for my PTSD.”

“Jonathan...” Jervis tried to pull back but found Jonathan was holding him tightly in place, perhaps to stop him being able to see his face. “...Can I kiss you?”

It took a moment, but Jonathan shifted to give Jervis a little space and tilted the lower half of his face down slightly. Jervis pressed a kiss to his lips, no masks or defences between them this time, with his head tilted away and eyes closed before settling back into place.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while,” Jervis continued quietly. “I was too afraid of scaring you off by seeming too romantic or intense however. Being so horrifically lonely, it was always more simply to find someone and... and find any way to hold onto them, whatever that meant for me.” He made a hesitating noise, uncomfortably shifting on to ask, “I-Is there anything I can do, if you have an... to help you?”

“I don’t know; I’ve never told anyone before,” Jonathan admitted.

Jervis made a noise of sympathy in his throat. “Well, is there anything that makes it worse at least? I shouldn’t like to do that accidentally.”

“Considering the main reminder is my scars, particularly the ones on the backs of my hands I see all day every day, there’s not much that can make it worse than it already is.”

Giving it a moment’s thought, Jervis began to wriggle about in Jonathan’s arms. They loosened, allowing him to contort himself and just about get one of his small hands over the backs of each of Jonathan’s. “This isn’t exactly the easiest of arrangements, I must admit...” As it was, one of his arms was twisted back over his own shoulder, the other tucked up and elbowing himself under the ribs. What he could reach only covered about half of Jonathan’s hands, and even in a better position his hands were too small to ever completely cover Jonathan’s hands.

But, “...Thank you.” Jonathan squeezed the parts of Jervis he was holding, one forefinger affectionately rubbing its nail against the palm of Jervis’ hand.

“It’s the benefit of being mad, you know; you think of all kinds of things others never could!” Jervis said proudly.

“It’s the benefit of being two; you think of all kinds of things one never could,” Jonathan responded, smiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folie à Deux - 'Madness of two', a psychological condition where delusions are shared by two people.
> 
> Is it obvious I spend far too much time thinking about the psychology of fear for Jonathan's character? I have to credit the kernel at the heart of the 'fear is energy' idea to season 1 of the podcast [Alice Isn't Dead](http://feeds.nightvalepresents.com/aliceisntdeadpodcast), which is brilliant to listen to and I especially recommend if you struggle with anxiety in any form as I have.


	7. Enter Username

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point on the story will become slowly but increasingly thematic as opposed to chronological. You'll see what I mean more clearly in a few chapters' time but just to give you an idea where we're heading, or if it seems like this chapter is skipping lots of time.

“I need to switch hideouts,” Jonathan announced as he came to bed a couple of weeks later. “I need a test subject or few for the new formula I’ve designed. I have a hideout more suited with a soundproof basement that has a patch of exposed floor.” At Jervis’ unknowing frown, “For burying subjects that die, accidentally or from necessity.”

“Oh,” Jervis accepted. “May I come with you?”

“Of course.” Jonathan thought that had been implied in the simple fact he was telling Jervis.

But then, Jervis still hesitated slightly as he shuffled over to indicate he wanted to curl up together, checking Jonathan’s comfort. It was nice to have someone who understood the concept of a shifting tolerance for things, that some days one or both of them might not be comfortable with the exact same thing they had initiated even the day before.

He pulled Jervis into his body in answer, lying them down together for a peaceful night.

~#~

Jonathan threatened the gagged and bound man once again, placing a syringe of fear toxin right in front of the man’s eyes, needle pointed right at one of his eyeballs only an inch away from his rapidly dilated pupil, but in true irony it simply made him struggle louder. He’d obviously underestimated the man’s weight – The ache in his back would corroborate that – as he’d regained consciousness ten minutes too early up here in the hall instead of down in the soundproof basement. “I apologise,” he pre-empted at the sound of footsteps on the stairs; “they just don’t make chloroform like they used to.”

“Or he’s simply had too many ham sandwiches, perhaps,” Jervis joked, pausing to lean on the stairs and bemusedly watch. “Does chloroform really work as quickly as in the movies? I haven’t yet looked at how I can induce an anaesthetic effect with my technology so I wouldn’t mind if you’ve got any experience to share over dinner sometimes.”

“In real life it takes at least five minutes of inhalation to work,” Jonathan said, seeing if kicking the man would make him any quieter. “In nearly all cases some other form of chemical depressant also needs to be administered for true unconsciousness.” No, the man only whimpered and struggled harder. Jonathan kicked him again just for fun this time. “I used an intravenous anaesthetic, midazolam, although I appear to have slightly underestimated the dosage in this case.”

Jervis had joined him down in the hall by this point, stood over the struggling, caterpillar-like bound hostage. Jonathan observed his partner’s frown, awaiting a reaction; Jervis had yet to make much comment either way on the idea of an unwillingly abducted test subject, an avoidance that in most cases tended to signal a discomfort with the subject.

Jervis crouched down to the man, reaching forward with a little displeasure at having to touch some random stranger in order to remove his gag. “Oh thank God! Please, get me away from him! I’ll give you anything-!”

“Oh, do be quiet!” Jervis snapped, pressing one of his cards to the man’s head with his other hand. It didn’t have any perceivable effect on the man’s behaviour as he continued to struggle and plead-

“Wait, you’re that-! Oh God, y-you’re that new one, the Hatter-!” Jervis’ gloved finger pointed at the spot between his eyes, a dark scowl on his face, silenced the man instantly compared to Jonathan’s syringe. With Jervis’ hat and control band nowhere in sight though Jonathan didn’t think it was the card that had done that.

“Which pocket is your wallet in?” Jervis asked plainly.

The man stammered wordlessly for a moment before, “In-Inside, o-on my left!”

Jervis pulled his suit jacket out with a similar disdain for close contact, reaching in and pulling out a boring, brown leather wallet. “Name?” he asked before opening it.

“M-Michael Robotham.”

Whatever was on the card Jervis had pulled out of the wallet, if it was the same name or not, made him frown. “Last time you had sex?”

Jonathan boggled in amusement now, as the man flushed and Jervis continued leafing through the wallet’s contents whilst waiting with scientific disinterest.

After half a minute of no answer, Jervis took to frowning again. “Hm, the compliance aspect still needs work then.” He reached out to push the control card as if checking it was affixed right. “ATM number, as you Americans call it?”

“Y-Yes! Yes! You can have money! J-Just please don’t-!” Jervis snapped his fingers for attention, holding up a credit card he’d taken out of the wallet for inspection. “4752!”

Jervis hummed again, tucking the card away for now and plucking his own from the man’s head. “Well, I’ll have to go and check that part later.” He stood up, waving a hand over his shoulder as he walked away back upstairs. “All yours now, dear.”

Jonathan watched the hope Jervis’ intervention had built in the man crumble right before his eyes, savouring the particular form of despair-flavoured terror that only came from such a deceptive lifeline being cruelly yanked away. That sheer, sinking dread as the man’s eyes could only turn to Jonathan stood over him now, pulling the gag back into place before he could scream for help – Oh, he was going to have to repay Jervis for that little surprise pleasure later! They’d been experimenting with making out a couple of times lately as they became more accustomed to kissing; that felt like a fine way to do it, considering how Jonathan was feeling now.

He walked a few steps ahead down the basement stairs, grabbing the man’s cheap suit collar from behind without warning to drag him down the steps behind him. “I was going to let you go free afterwards,” he mentioned as he went, “but for the sake of my back which doesn’t fancy dragging you back up all these stairs, I’m afraid it looks like I’ll just have to kill you when I’m done.”

Jonathan didn’t actually kill him in the end – But it was always _so fun_ to continually threaten that while he was working on them, and then leave them with the fear he still might even though he was releasing them, “for now,”; it helped discourage them reporting what had happened at least – And Jervis only took a few hundred dollars from his bank account, the science of the whole thing his real interest.

Thus Jonathan found him sat at the kitchen table that evening after washing up, paper back off the card, frowning at the insides while tapping a pencil end on a much larger and easier to work on circuit diagram beside it. Oblivious to his new company, Jervis jumped as his name briefly preceded lips on his neck and Jonathan’s hands on his shoulders, one sliding along and down into the front of his shirt. He yelped and flustered terribly as it found a nipple, his flailing arms encouraging Jonathan to pull back, laughing all the way, to lean on the back of the chair instead, smiling deviously down at Jervis’ deeply flushed cheeks and tetchy frown. “Our guest has left us then?” All that heavy dragging up the stairs with one of Scarecrow’s spare nooses hadn’t been nothing after all.

“Thrown in a back alley far from here, with much more midazolam in his system this time. He should wake up soon,” Jonathan answered. “I hate keeping hostages more than 24 hours – You have to feed them, and they never believe you when you say it’s not drugged.” He held up his hands in cavalier defeat. “How is your research doing?”

Jervis turned with a harsher sigh to his vivisected card lying on the table. “’”It’s no use speaking to it,” she thought, “till its ears has come, or at least one of them.”’ I’ve some academic articles on so-called ‘truth serums’ to read, but most seem to hinge on simply inhibiting the higher brain functions involved in inventing lies instead of compelling the truth...” He sunk onto one elbow, poking the pencil into the card’s insides. “I don’t know if there’s a way to compel action in the human brain; my cards so far rely more on something more akin to a very heavy form of hypnosis, inducing a dream-like state that makes one think my commands are self-produced desires.”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Yes, for most purposes. But it’s not true control.” The pencil relented and Jervis sealed the backing on again with a glue stick, turning the card over to look at the 4/3 marked on the front. “...You wouldn’t mind helping me experiment with this, would you, Jonathan?” He turned to look hopefully over the back of his chair. “It’s rather hard to lie to oneself when I’ve tried alone.”

“You don’t want me to wear it?”

Jervis grinned slyly. “Well, if you’d like to...”

Jonathan plucked the card from Jervis’ fingers, sticking it to Jervis’ forehead instead with the ease of if it had been covered in glue. Walking around the table, he dropped into a chair to consider the impromptu experiment before him. “What do you want me to ask? Something you’d want to lie in answer to?” He thought for a moment. “When was the last time you masturbated?”

“T-That’s not something one generally wants to lie about,” Jervis debated, cheeks flushed nonetheless. “But, hmm, I don’t feel any compulsion to answer...” He fiddled with the card as if checking it was attached properly. “Back to the drawing board then, I suppose; clean cup, clean cup... Perhaps there’s some sort of compulsive truth-telling condition I can emulate, or maybe something that engenders a fear response if they don’t comply...” He looked over at a very perked-up Master of Fear, Jonathan leaning in with more fascination now.

“Who was your first crush on?”

“Pass.”

“You’re meant to be attempting to lie, you know,” Jonathan reminded him.

“Oh. Yes.”

Jonathan considered a little longer this time. “Have you ever lied to me about anything, Jervis?”

Jervis hesitated this time, mouth opening and attempting the shapes of words but, “...’”Curiouser and curiouser.”’ It’s a little like the feeling during a non-verbal episode, if you ever have those,” The other autistic man nodded, “only the problem isn’t in the motor control of the muscles involved in speech but in language production instead; well, I got something right at least.” He massaged the side of his head thoughtfully, not that it was likely to manage anything.

“Now,” Jonathan continued, “you could be attempting to lie and say ‘yes’, but I’d think it’s more likely you’re failing to say ‘no’. Is that the case, Jervis?”

Frozen in place, Jervis slowly settled his hand on the table and said nothing.

Jonathan smirked lightly. “I think your silence is admission enough.”

“’”Please, your Majesty,” said the Knave, “I didn’t write it, and they can’t prove I did: there’s no name signed at the end,”’” Jervis quoted, then said more plainly, “It’s a common thing to lie about small things, truths I’d rather not say quite yet until we know each other better and the like-”

“I assure you I don’t mind, Jervis,” Jonathan said, lest he have to suffer through any more indignant defensiveness. “I was only helping your experiment.”

“Well, then,” Jervis plucked the card from his head, examining it in one hand, “I think I have enough results now. No need for any more questioning.” He busied himself with his notepad and pencil, jotting away.

Jonathan meanwhile raised quite an eyebrow. A markedly defensive response, which meant something significant to defend, which with Jervis likely meant something related to their relationship. Previous instances of that had tended to come with an element of fear though, and Jonathan could pick out any indication of that at 100 paces. Then something else. Jervis might be uncomfortable talking about his past but that wouldn’t have produced defensiveness of all emotions. It must be something he _needed_ to hide from Jonathan then, not merely wanted. But if not about their relationship then what else would be a significant thing to hide from Jonathan-?

“’”There goes Bill!”’”

Jonathan snapped to where Jervis was staring out of the windows, past the electric light of their kitchen and curtains that had been left apathetically open at the dusky skyline beyond. Accenting the corner of a skyscraper from their perspective, a pale disc of light was shining off the near-cloudless sky with a far too familiar silhouette in the centre.

“You know, someone ought to sneak up and put an _addition_ between its legs one night,” Jervis mused in self-amusement, “just as a surprise addition for our dear White King.”

“Does your mind even have a kerb or is it all gutter?” Jonathan had to witheringly ask.

“Do you rogues ever get together to play truth or dare?” Jervis turned to him as if he’d heard nothing, clapping his fingertips together lightly in delight. “I daresay that’d be a good one!”

“No, and for good reason if that suggestion is anything to go by.” The emergence of a smartphone from Jonathan’s pocket prompted Jervis to shift around the table, choosing a chair where he could peer nosily at what he was doing instead. “We do have a communication network however. I think I mentioned it once before.”

“Yes...” Jervis was more interested in what was happening on the small screen in Jonathan’s hand. There was a little cartoon Batsignal shining at the top of that too, then with a press it shifted to a living soundwave, wavering quickly as various official-sounding listed off locations and official-sounding codes- “Is that a police scanner?”

“The central communication channel at the GCPD, yes. Edward has it hacked somehow.” They began to hear Two-Face’s name being thrown around a lot, solving the question of ‘who’ at least. Jonathan slipped the phone away at that point, seemingly bored. “I owe Selina a favour currently; I simply needed to check she didn’t require assistance. I don’t need to wake up and find my chemistry supplies have been replaced by cats. Again.”

While the idea of cats, including potentially grinning ones, was very tempting, “You all actually coordinate these things?”

“When temperaments and mental health problems allow; it is useful to stretch the city’s resources as thin as possible when we can. I tend to be called on simply for medical assistance however.” Seeing Jervis was going off into one of his fantasies about whatever glamorous, exciting vision he still had of rogue-life, “After you put your things away,” He nodded to the items on the tabletop, “would you like to spend a little time together before bedtime?”

After a glance to check one of Jonathan’s eyebrows was raised in _that way_ , “Oh! But a moment, Jonathan dear!” Jervis rushed his things from the room to deposit them upstairs, singing something that sounded like the Lobster Quadrille to himself with a kind of glee.

Jonathan made his way to his favoured armchair of this hideout in the meantime, a particularly decadent and plush thing made of far too much, very yielding upholstery to wait; others might have opted for a sofa with room to take things horizontal, but they failed to appreciate how an armchair forced a far closer intimacy of a different kind.

Jervis came running back in before long, and Jonathan could practically see the small shiver of thrill as Jervis took in the sight of such a regal, scholarly composure flanked by the black, swooping batwing-like tops of the wing-back chair.

Jonathan’s arms were there to catch him when he dived onto Jonathan’s lap, drawing his little Hatter into the secluded, dark embrace of the chair with him.

~#~

Of all the things people had attempted to get the drop on Jonathan while he was asleep to do, “Are you tryin’ t’unlock my phone?” he drawled out, causing Jervis to let out the cutest mouse-like eep and drop the long, slender hand that had stirred to life in his.

Jervis hid Jonathan’s smartphone behind his back, pyjamas being sans pockets, and attempted to affect sheepish innocence for a moment. “’”I’m a poor man, your Majesty,” the Hatter began.’” Jonathan dragged himself up onto his elbows, rubbing his previously abducted hand over his face to wake himself up- What time even was it? 6:20am? Not that early at least. “...I was simply a little curious, Jonathan,” Jervis admitted more plainly after a moment, giving up on hiding the phone behind him. “I figured the Dormouse had locked it with biometrics when it wouldn’t open for me.”

“So you attempted to use my hand while I was asleep to access it?”

“Well, I would have cut off one of your fingers but then you would have gotten blood all over the sheets,” Jervis tutted, but the fact he picked Jonathan’s hand back up by one of the fingers very casually gave his joke a slightly unsettling edge.

Jonathan sighed, grabbing the phone and unlocking it with a quick push so he could toss it to Jervis and reacquaint his head with his pillow.

“You’re such a teenager sometimes, you know,” Jervis commented from behind him.

Jonathan flipped him a well-aimed, backwards bird.

He could have been up instantly, if he wanted to, or if he was being attacked. But as it was, Jervis moving to lay beside him in nothing but a T-shirt and loose shorts, late Spring sunshine peeking around the blackout curtains to make the room glow, a warm bed and even warmer body sitting alongside his...

Jonathan roused again, not even aware he’d slept, and this time lazily flipped himself to look at whatever Jervis found _so_ fascinating on his phone.

As he was operating it one-handed currently, Jervis’ other hand dropped to stroke the long arm of Jonathan’s that had flopped over his lap, settling over Jonathan’s hand to entwine their fingers and run the pad of his thumb back-and-forth along the top of Jonathan’s. “So?” Jonathan mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

“Hm?” Jervis turned his head slightly for a moment, only to show he was listening. “Oh, I was simply investigating the Dormouse’s little _Cryptogram_ app, the little alerts and warnings you can send out to each other with it, doing a small bit of snooping of your message history – You’re terribly boring, darling; it’s all so functional.”

“You’d prefer me to what, stay up spending my evenings texting Oswald about which boys we think are cute?” Jonathan asked dryly.

“You could at least reply to the funny photos and memes Edward sends you occasionally; ‘”it’s ridiculous to leave all the conversation to the pudding.”’” That raised an unintentional smile from Jonathan, who supposed he ought to sit up and see precisely what Jervis was tarnishing his reputation with on that screen. “My failed attempt to enter earlier alerted Edward, although the automatic cross-referencing with the GCPD’s fingerprint files reassured him you weren’t in true trouble; I was simply telling him how clever the whole thing is.”

Jonathan looked at, yes, a series of messages supposedly from him full of compliments he’d never give and questions he didn’t even know the digital terminology to ask, and as ever Edward’s predictably preening replies. Right at the bottom though, popping on to the screen as he was reading, “He’s guessed I’m awake.”

Jervis looked as well at the small message sussing, ‘Jonathan’s awake now, hm?’. “I suppose I did stop replying to talk to you...”

Looking back over the earlier messages however, “You never told him I was asleep or even in the same location as you,” he realised warily.

“Well, it’s hardly difficult to surmise considering I have access to your phone and the time,” Jervis argued, although dubiously so. His forefinger tapped against the back of the phone though as a small, suspicious frown took over his face. “...Jonathan, what permissions did you give this app when you installed it?”

“’Permissions’?” Jonathan questioned.

“Yes, access to your camera or microphone and so forth.”

He shrugged. “Edward gave us the phones with the app already installed.”

“Ah,” Jervis realised flatly. “I don’t suppose any of you less technologically-minded rogues knew it’d be easily possible for him to remotely turn on the microphone or camera of your phones whenever he pleased in that case, did you?”

“What.”

On screen they watched as, ‘Spoilsport. Now I won’t give you one!’ popped up, answering that query indeed. ‘And I heard that remark about pudding!’

Jervis sighed, and seeing Jonathan’s hard-lined displeasure beside him, “Perhaps we ought to pay the Dormouse a visit today...”

Jonathan’s answer was to throw the covers off his side of the bed, climbing out and already grabbing his clothes for the day.

~#~

“Please,” Edward insisted dryly, folding an ankle across his other knee in stylish nonchalance, “I have _far_ better uses of my precious time than listening to whatever morbid and no doubt tedious things the ‘Master of Fear’ chooses to do with his lonely evenings- Well,” He threw a grinning glance at Jervis stood beside Jonathan across his work studio, “previously lonely evenings.”

Jonathan stalked across the smooth, laminated wood flooring, placing both hands on the arms of Edward’s office chair with a claw-like grip. Edward remained smiling and unfazed as the distance between their noses closed to mere inches. “You were listening to us this morning, Edward,” Jonathan stated, more tiredly displeased than truly angry though.

“I would have had to be blind or as utterly idiotic as 99% of the population not to see what was going on between the two of you while we were in Arkham together,” Edward replied in a simplistic drawl as if he were talking to a five-year-old. “Jervis had access to your phone so early in the morning? You had to be sharing a hideout, although I’d expected as such since the little larceny you pulled together a few weeks ago. But how was I to know you weren’t under the duress of one of the cruel, manipulative Hatter’s cards, Jonathan?” Jervis looked on with a flattened frown now. “Can you truly blame me for being worried about the safety of my friend?” Edward spoke with such bullshit-innocence, even putting a dramatic hand to his heart.

“Oh, I’ll give you something you ought to be _worried_ about, Edward.” A syringe of infamously, toxic orange liquid was between Jonathan’s fingers in seconds, nice and close to the exposed skin of Edward’s forearm.

Edward simply folded his arms, an attempt to move said skin away somewhat subtly. “Well! Such a threat almost practically proves there’s something to hide going on between the two of you, if knowing you were sharing a _bed_ this morning wasn’t enough.”

“Edward...” Jonathan practically growled.

“Oh, leave him alone, Jonathan,” Jervis tutted, walking over to the side of the little face-off. He had to tug on Jonathan’s shirt before his bipedal, chemical-wielding Rottweiler would comply, a movement that made Edward smirk to see, before he began a new conversation with a much more companionable couple of feet between their faces. “Now, I believe there’s a number of services you can provide in return for favours or payment, Dormouse: Identity, communication, finances and so forth.”

“Mmm,” Edward entertained him, “but I don’t tend to perform them for _nobodies_ ,” he said pointedly, adding in a spat mutter, “or people who continually compare me to rodents. I have better things to do than sit around dealing with you threatening to set Jonathan on me, _Hatter_.”

To that, Jervis just unnervingly laughed. “Oh, as do I, _Riddler_! I have _much_ better threats than whatever Jonathan could do to you,” he practically scorned, but before Jonathan had the chance to voice his considerable offence he realised Jervis didn’t have his arm braced against the back of Edward’s chair around his head just to be amiably intimate; without warning or more than a blink there was a card tucked in Edward’s hair behind his ear, one reading ‘11/6’. “This is a new invention of mine – Don’t worry, it’s been tested on other _mice_ to be perfectly safe, Dormouse – It allows you to retain total awareness while inhibiting all voluntary control of your body. If I had my hat on now,” It had been left across the room, politeness and all that to take it off indoors when visiting, “all of said voluntary control would be given over to me. But I digress! It’s not the only thing I’ve been working on lately either.”

Jervis leant in to Edward’s ear, and whatever he said next took some length of time to say, a cruel Cheshire Cat grin gracing his face all the while. Edward remained utterly stationary throughout, staring blankly straight ahead. Jonathan almost went to intervene after a while, a small sense of worry brewing that Jervis had overstepped his bounds as a newcomer or what Edward’s response might be if left in that state too long. But Jervis backed off seconds before that, plucking the card from Edward’s head and removing himself a few feet from the chair in case.

It seemed he had estimated well as control came back to Edward in a violent spasm, all limbs flailing at once before he dived from the chair, in full sight of both other men hiding behind it like a child to put anything between him and Jervis. Jonathan couldn’t see the expression on Edward’s face from his angle but the one on Jervis’ looked pleased.

“I picked up one of your discarded puzzle boxes from the trash outside Wayne Tech once,” Jervis continued easily, turning the card a few times in his hand before slipping it away; “your circuitry designs are excellent but you obviously don’t have the technology for micro-circuitry at your disposal; I’ve noted many of your past puzzle boxes and contraptions are far larger than they need to be. This first time I’ll even supply all the parts from my own supplies, free of charge; what do you say?” He stalked a little closer to Edward. “’”I know you are a friend, a dear friend, and old friend. And I know you won’t hurt me, though I _am_ an insect.”’ So, as a show of good friendship this first time, yes?”

“Y-You couldn’t really do that to my brain!” Edward threw back, fingers still white as they gripped the back of his chair.

Jervis let his head more drop to the side than cant. Then a wide grin bloomed over it again. “Perhaps not yet, but I’m sure the damage done to any test subject while I attempted to perfect the technology would be enough.”

Edward attempted to stare him down a moment longer then span round, appealing to Jonathan of all people, “Oh very funny, Jonathan! You’ve managed to train your new minion very well!”

“I’ve... done nothing to train Jervis in the art of intimidation,” Jonathan admitted, uncertain enough himself about Jervis for a shocked dread to wash over Edward’s face and cause him to put his gaze back on Jervis for safety. “I have no idea what he just said to you, but having had the chance to read through of his research I expect it certainly wasn’t entirely hollow.” While he still had his reservations about Jervis being so quick to make threats to such an established player in the game, it was _deeply_ _satisfying_ to see Edward knocked down a few pegs for once, and by fear of all things particularly. Any leverage over Edward Nygma could only be a good thing, as was any service you had to offer him in return for his many skills.

After an embarrassing moment of stalemate, Edward made a show of returning to his usual haughtiness, even though he was still stood behind his chair like a child hiding from a scary movie behind the sofa, and supposed, “I may have something that could benefit from your skills; my ingenious engineering would have found a way around the issue with time-”

“Oh, indubitably!” Jervis agreed readily.

“-but as it’s a menial tasks and I have much better things to be spending my time on,” Edward picked back up, preening, “let’s see what you can do, Tetch.” He exited the room at that point, only into the next door living room, and returned before long with something quite indistinguishable in shape but expectedly green that he tossed to Jervis.

Jervis investigated it for a few moments while Edward flicked through files on his computer screen array, Jonathan coming over to peer inside the cavity on the side Jervis had managed to pop open. All looked like wiry, chippy nonsense to Jonathan but Jervis’ smaller fingers pried straight in, lifting a few wires carefully to one side to inspect the insides more clearly.

A printer lurched to life, chugging away happily for a few seconds before spitting out a sheet of paper with some sort of circuit diagram on it. “This was my design so far,” Edward handed it over to Jervis. “I expect if you’re going to be able to solve this that you can work out everything for yourself.”

“The almighty Riddler is too busy even to ensure his work is outsourced properly?” Jonathan scorned slightly.

“No, it’s quite a simple design really, Jonathan,” Jervis said, folding up the sheet after only a few moments’ inspection to tuck away. “I’m not familiar with the particular microprocessor in the design currently but it’s a simple matter to look these things up.”

Edward nodded Jonathan to listen to that; of course he knew what he was doing trusting the rookie with this.

With no further queries, Jervis took his leave at that point to begin work as soon as possible. This favoured hideout of Edward’s was through quite the maze of back-streets but a single guidance on the way there proved enough for Jervis to lead the way back, the new, little project sticking slightly out of one jacket pocket as he climbed back down ladders and edged over suspended metal pipes like it was no hassle at all.

“What was the threat you made to Edward?” Jonathan finally couldn’t contain any longer a couple of minutes into the maze, as they ducked into one end of an abandoned building that looked more like it belonged in a war zone than a cosmopolitan, north-eastern American city. 

“Hm?” Jervis glanced back briefly. “Oh, that little matter. I’ve conducted some preliminary research into how the myelin coating on neurons builds up, the signals sent to encourage its growth and such, in order to strengthen memories and speed memorisation of new knowledge and skills. Of course such connections can break down too; while normally that happens over time, any natural process like that could potentially be accelerated by increasing the signal. It could be very useful for your research,” he paused to look back again as they passed through a hollow and gutted hallway, “allow a selective destruction of the connections surrounding people’s traumatic experiences and their triggers, and so forth. But it could also be used to simply wipe a brain clean,” He shrugged; “that was all I threatened the Dormouse with.”

“A man who values his brain above all things and a neuroscientist who controls and tampers with brains for fun,” Jonathan said in a tone that should have known.

Jervis grinned for a moment before he had to concentrate on getting through the fence around the abandoned building, letting them out into a more standard set of back streets. “A little more subtle and modern than a lobotomy but much the same effect.”

“Don’t use that word around Edward,” Jonathan mentioned as a friendly warning. “He has suffered from periods of mild epilepsy in the past and Arkham threatened him with surgery when they found out; it’s a particular fear of his.”

Jervis noted a lack of normal glee for such a subject. “I know a little about epilepsy but not much. I ought to study up on it – I’ve never even considered how my cards would react to different neurological disorders like that actually – Maybe I can help develop something for him so we don’t have to keep putting jam on his nose.” Jonathan gave him a mildly amused smile as they returned to proper streets, the same quiet and mostly abandoned downtown area where many rogues had a hideout. It was a good area not to be bothered, even when speaking aloud about, “I do want to be friendly with everyone but I was right to be so tough with him there, wasn’t I, Jonathan? Only, I really can’t be a doormat in this sort of life; ‘”I wouldn’t be in Bill’s place for a good deal.”’”

“Your behaviour was perfectly acceptable; Edward particularly requires a little assertion, at least at first. He won’t show it but if you don’t betray him and help him out he’ll actually come to respect you very quickly. He’ll still expect favours paid back for a while, but after a few years he stops counting for people like myself and Oswald unless they’re particularly big.”

“Ah, good.” Jervis let out a small but perceptible amount of tension as he next exhaled. “I’m afraid you’ll have to advise me on the proper dealings with the others for a while, at least if they have any peculiarities. I’m well aware I’m a newcomer to this world where there’s already a good number of rules I imagine; ‘”I wouldn’t mind being a Pawn, if only I might join – though of course I should _like_ to be a Queen, best.”’”

“I think ‘queen’ can be arranged,” Jonathan commented wryly.

“Yes, yes,” Jervis flopped his hand in a rather camp manner. “I suppose I don’t mind being your ‘queen’, although I would like to establish a name for myself best. I’ll have to do a number of outings by myself, is the thing for it.” He began thinking already, one finger to his chin. “That might be a useful thing actually; if the two of us act alone it ought to make breaking the other out from Arkham a little easier coming at the thing from both sides.”

Jonathan considered that as well, a quite neutral face that was his equivalent of a content pleasure; he’d obviously not thought of that either yet and approved.

“...I do want to say,” Jervis mentioned, “there’s no need for me to prove myself to _you_ , as it were, is there, Jonathan? We can be simply friends and trust one another, unlike the rest?” he asked hopefully.

“Having shown you the locations of all my hideouts and taught you more about my fear toxin’s workings than anyone else still alive, I should hope I can trust you,” Jonathan said, not quite as humorously as Jervis would have liked though. “Do I respect you, Jervis? Somewhat; you have a manipulative cunning that’s already proven a match for Edward’s intelligence and puts me somewhat in mind of Oswald’s impressive social slyness. Your technology is exceptional, if currently under-developed compared to what I can see it could become; you have the scientific knowledge and technological skills to valuably trade on par with my own with a little more work. But you are obviously naive and inexperienced, despite the potential I see in you. It will come with time,” he concluded.

Jervis had slowly sunk a little listening, although still walked quite straight and unafraid down the quietly nervous streets. He became keenly aware that might only be due to Jonathan however and fidgeted shamefully with his small hands. All he had on him as protection currently was a handful of different cards; what was that compared to the syringes and gas canisters he knew to be concealed on Jonathan? What would that be if Jonathan ever used those items on...?

His gaze flicked up to Jonathan’s head just over a foot above his; getting a card up there would be easy enough, but he’d seen Jonathan’s jumpy gas-first, ask-second instincts before when they’d been grocery shopping once. The small window between the gas being inhaled or injected and it taking affect, just those few seconds... If he didn’t already have a card in hand ready, expecting an attack, he wouldn’t make it.

Trust then...

But the words ‘naive and inexperienced’ kept coming back to him the more he thought about it.

Was it truly a good idea to trust the Scarecrow, the sadistic God of Fear and notably amoral mad scientist, just because he was also Jonathan?

~#~

Jervis returned the little puzzle box thingummy – For all he had fixed it and knew what it could do, he had little clue what the Riddler was going to do with it – a week later. Not that he wasn’t done sooner, but it seemed best to go when Jonathan could accompany him just in case, and Edward hadn’t seemed in any hurry for it when Jonathan texted him an update.

Edward was eating a late lunch in his workroom as he took his excessively green doohicky back, popping it open and raising an eyebrow at the insides. Jonathan peered in for the first time as well, seeing the wires and chips of before replaced by just one tiny but intricate circuit board. “There’s enough space for a whole dismembered hand in there,” Jonathan observed with some notable pleasure.

Edward turned to look at him like, are you serious? Right in front of my (pasta) salad? “Jonathan, do tell me why on Earth I would _want_ to fit a whole dismembered hand in there?”

Jonathan shrugged. “Make a riddle about a hand; I’m sure you can work out the rest.”

Edward didn’t even deign to give that a rolling of his eyes. “Providing Jonathan hasn’t given you any similarly ‘helpful’ advice in the construction of this, it looks like passable work.” Jervis exhaled, remembering what Jonathan had forewarned about Edward’s ‘compliments’. “I need a few more, if you’ve got the parts.” He nodded to another handful sitting on a shelf across the room, if you could pick them out from all the other green contraptions lying around. When Jervis turned back, Edward was reaching around in a drawer of his wide desk, eventually tossing over, “Update me on that when they’re done.”

It was a phone, the same top-of-the-range model as Jonathan’s. It already registered his fingerprint and unlocked, the special _Cryptogram_ app clearly in view and unable to be moved from prime position or deleted Jervis noted. Little else was pre-installed, but before Jervis even got the chance to go through that the app opened itself to a new message:

> **SphinxyAndIKnowIt**  
>  All right, everyone. I’ve let the Mad Hatter/Jervis Tetch  
>  into our network. He’s Jonathan’s new bedwarmer so  
>  play nice.

“Really, Dormouse?” Jervis objected in person, tutting. Edward simply ate another twirl of pasta in far too smug a manner. “Honestly...” In the interests of defending his honour-

“You’ll need to create a username first,” Edward took pleasure in diagnosing as he watched Jervis run into precisely that problem when he tried to reply. “I didn’t have the time to think of anything for you myself, but make sure it’s worthy or I will change it for you.”

“He will,” Jonathan backed up.

‘Worthy’? Looking through the list of other names in this open-to-all-members chat he could have saved a letter and simply said ‘witty’:

‘ **KillerWeed** ’, ‘ **PapaPopsicle** ’ ‘ **GetYourPawsOffThat** ’-

“’ **Hardporecorn** ’?” Jervis questioned Jonathan, for with a screaming cartoon pumpkin beside the brown name it could be no other.

“Freudian slip,” Jonathan smirked with a pleased shrug.

“Really.” Well, he had been assigned royal blue and a top hat symbol. In that case...

Edward and Jonathan looked at their phones as Jervis’ first message to the rogues of Gotham buzzed in their pocket:

> **BehattedBatHater  
>  ** Please, I do more than just warm Jonathan’s bed –  
>  I also cook and clean the hideout for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make clear, Harley isn't around yet for Jervis to be compared as Jonathan's equivalent of her or else he probably would be. But don't worry, she'll be turning up eventually.
> 
> The next chapter of this story might make a little more sense with some of the things learnt in my other Hattercrow fic, ['Monkeys Made of Gingerbread'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307285) so if you've not got onboard yet now is the time!


	8. “Trust Is So Very Hard to Find in Gotham. But I Trust You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definite warning for content that some people may find uncomfortable/triggering this chapter. I don’t really want to spoil too much but it’s mainly around issues of consent and miscommunication. It’s not too severe hopefully, but it’s certainly not mild either.  
> The chapter title is a quote from _Gotham_.

Spring swelled into the true heat of Summer. Jervis pulled a few stunts for the pure sake of making a name for himself while testing his new array of control cards on a wider audience of victims. After the third very narrow escape in a row he retired to a low-lying safety for the time, letting his bruised ribs – “I’ve never had bruised ribs before; why, I didn’t even know bones could bruise! What colour do they turn?” – recuperate as his attentions returned to research and development based on his first round of results.

One evening, books abandoned to the floor, they both lay stacked supine on a sofa that caught the best of the low, hazy sunshine. Jervis listened with a patient pleasure as Jonathan’s griping about all the problems of a Gotham summer slowly slipped into waxing poetic about the true summers of Georgia. It was delightful, both eloquent and slightly amusing the way he went on so, but lying here with Jonathan’s arms wrapped around him and hands lingering by his waist, a bony yet soft crotch cradling his own hips from behind, Jervis’ own mind was starting to care more about other things.

“Jonathan,” he inserted at a good point. He didn’t know quite how to politely bring the topic up without falling into being either too scientist or too schoolboy about it, but shifting his hips about on top of Jonathan’s in a somewhat rolling motion as he turned to look over his shoulder seemed an effective enough beginning. “If you’re done with your work for today, and we have all of this time still tonight...”

Jonathan started to get that slightly skittish look about him; doing the act was fine in the right mood, but talking about it always resulted in, “You want to...?” he trailed off, hoping Jervis would fill in the rest for him.

“I know it can rather spoil the mood of the thing to talk rather than letting it organically happen but...” He pulled himself up to sitting, seeing Jonathan was glad of the chance to get into a slightly less intimate posture as well. “If you’d rather not tonight-”

“It’s fine,” Jonathan insisted, very obviously trying not to be a baby about it by how hard his tone came out. “It’s simply that I don’t know how quickly we should, or can, progress when it comes to the matter of our physical relationship. Is it appropriate yet to...?”

They made out easily. Certain body parts had gotten interested, even if left to seek their own satisfaction still trapped inside clothing while other things went on. If the Arkham showers didn’t count they’d gotten no further than seeing each other topless. “You’re going to need to say it I’m afraid, dear,” Jervis said. “In this situation, at least.”

That blush like a dusting of pink sugar appeared across the top of Jonathan’s cheeks. He rubbed his face in one long hand, sighing. “Sorry. Jus’ thinkin’ Granny’d have skinned me alive f’ this. Fixin’ straight for Hell to be the Devil’s personal whore, she’d be sayin’...” Jervis got that glee he always did to hear Jonathan’s accent in all its drawled glory. “I wouldn’t mind attempting to go a little further tonight, as much as we’re comfortable with.”

“’”Why,” said the Dodo, “the best way to explain it is to do it.”’” Eagerly pleased, Jervis hopped up and offered a gentleman’s hand down to his beau. It rather lost its impact when Jonathan took it and stood up a full head above Jervis, but he went along with being led through the house and upstairs, Jervis glancing back occasionally with a keen grin.

He noted a couple of times Jonathan looking off in distraction, only ever for a moment before his attention returned with a mild raising of one eyebrow if he was needed for something. Jervis shook it off each time but it had been happening with increased frequency over the past few weeks, catching Jonathan frowning at him without seeing him or utterly lost in reverie when he thought he could get away with it. Ooh, given the situation now perhaps all he was thinking about was... Ah, Jervis certainly couldn’t deny him _that_ kind of distracted thought when they were together.

Jervis was practically humming by the time they reached the bedroom, setting to adjusting the windows for the settling heat of the evening and then briefly cleaning himself up. Jonathan had found the bed by the time he turned back, casually sitting back on it with ridiculously long, slender legs dangling off the edge waiting. Jervis walked his fingers up one as he approached, pleasantly exclaiming when he was pulled bodily up onto Jonathan’s lap with an arousing degree of impatience.

They slid into kissing instantly, Jervis pressing himself up against Jonathan’s chest and letting long arms close tightly around him. A large hand smoothly skittered to the bottom of his shirt without pause tonight, hitching it up to press skin to warm skin and slide back up. Jervis giggled into the kiss as Jonathan tapped out every vertebrae on his way up to settle between his delicate shoulder blades.

The other hand on his waist encouraged Jervis to pull back, undoing the buttons of his shirt with fumbling fingers. Jonathan pulled his own Halloween-themed T-shirt up and off somewhat gracelessly, speed his real goal so he could push Jervis’ shirt back and off his chest, flinging it far across the room demonstrably.

Jervis followed the results of the deeply impassioned act with a dry smirk. “Satisfied those primitive urges yet, dear?”

Jonathan pulled Jervis’ lips back to his so he could murmur, “Shut up,” against them, then press his tongue between them and up along the inside of Jervis’ overbite. Trapped as his hands were between their bodies, Jervis short nails curled into the flesh of Jonathan’s chest as two hands followed each side of his waist, then curved over and round his ass. Kneading softly, Jonathan ground their hips together with instinctive clumsiness. Jervis moaned into Jonathan’s tongue filling his mouth at the heavy-feeling friction of their clothed erections rubbing together, only wriggling further into the frottage as Jonathan’s hands began to tug down on the back pockets of his shorts.

Jervis lost his shorts with a bit more of a struggle, interrupting things rather ineptly for a moment, but Jonathan pulled him back into his lap soon after, encircling Jervis’ lower half clad in nothing but his boxers with both of his legs.

Jonathan’s hands began to roam more explicitly, staying away from the most intimate areas between his legs but otherwise no longer holding back as they covered Jervis’ skin with light, hot strokes. An uncomfortable squirming changed them to firmer caresses, Jonathan mumbling an apology for forgetting that would be over-stimulating against Jervis’ neck as he kissed his way down. Jervis writhed with the pleasure as the contact continued relentlessly, fingers on the sensitive dip of his lower back, a tongue running down his collarbone, more fingers along his thigh, lips on one of his nipples. Jonathan’s hips pressed into him again, dry-humping insistently as he pushed Jervis down onto his back on their duvet, looming over the smaller man with a hand pressed hard onto one of Jervis’ shoulders.

“Relax,” Jonathan murmured, letting his nose and mouth brush over Jervis’ as they made startlingly intimate eye contact. “Let me take care of you.” A hand trailing every fingertip down over the slight chub of Jervis’ stomach, heading for his waistband gave clear context as to what that really meant.

Jervis pressed his eyes shut, suddenly deeply aware of his rapid breathing and heart rate. He tried to focus on Jonathan’s lips kissing a line down his sternum, the circles being rubbed into his hip in an attempt to soothe, on how good this was meant to feel.

His hand twitched on the side that Jonathan still held down at the shoulder, all of his upper body weight keeping Jervis pinned beneath him. Jervis squirmed as the lips stopped on the light trail of hair below his navel, Jonathan’s nose nuzzling into the dip itself. Jonathan’s other hand had become firm, moving from the side of his hip onto the waistband of only clothing he had left, down towards- “Stop! Stop!”

Jonathan flinched back instantly, taking that hand far away from Jervis’ body. Jervis struggled to get out from the other one still on his shoulder as well, pushing at it desperately while Jonathan in his shock didn’t realise to move it.

They caught each other’s face in the middle of the struggle, Jonathan’s surprise and Jervis’ fear. The realisation of that though made Jervis freeze, a new and complete terror sinking into him as he faced Jonathan above him. He began to tremble, to hyperventilate- Fear. So much fear.

Jonathan whipped his other arm back as if burnt, watching as Jervis fought his way out from under him and darted for a corner of the bedroom, curling up with his back safely to it, eyes pressed shut and ears covered with his hands.

Fear; it was so apparent, so present. Yet for once Jonathan had no idea what was happening.

He moved to sitting cross-legged facing Jervis, taking his time to study the situation while it didn’t appear Jervis would be moving or changing any time soon.

His placid, neutral expression was merely an autistic habit. Inside, the sight of Jervis shaking, shutting everything out, so terrified of him, churned with confusion and a nervous agitation.

“Jervis?”

Aural stimulation did nothing. Expectable with his covered ears.

Visual stimulation was equally impossible with his eyes shut.

Tactile stimulation made Jonathan uncomfortable as an idea; touching Jervis had been significant part of the onset of this situation and seemed unwise.

Why precisely he had become initially scared still eluded Jonathan but the later fear, when the pure terror had set in, was remarkably reminiscent of other reactions he often received upon recognition of his identity. Jervis had... Ah, perhaps Jervis had become afraid of being afraid in Jonathan’s presence given his reputation? That wasn’t uncommon. But it still failed to answer the question of why Jervis was scared of him at all.

The covering of his ears and eyes was very obviously a reaction to Jervis’ fear of reality but how did that logically explain the initial fear? It had been too real for Jervis, either the act of being physically intimate with another human being or all of the sensory input keeping him grounded in this world? On reflection, he had probably continued to over-stimulate Jervis despite his realisation and attempt to correct that. That would have predisposed him to a fear reaction if he was already in a heightened state of psychological arousal but it wouldn’t account for such a large one by itself.

**_“Go over. Study him.”_ **

Deducing the cause of all this was only helpful right now if it assisted him in finding a cure anyway; if he could restore Jervis then the cause could be determined much more effectively by simply asking.

But how to help him?

**_“Flooding? Gradual exposure? I want to flood him~”_ **

One primary problem was that he was part of the reality which Jervis was currently blocking out. Tactile stimulation was about the only possibility, but that only seemed likely to aggravate his condition.

What kind of fear master was he if he couldn’t fix this?

**_“All that sexual talk and flirting... The little Hatter is all hat and no cattle...”_ **

Though Jonathan appreciated the aptness of the phrase, _“Shut up. It’s not his fault. What did I do wrong?”_

**_“It’s not your fault. He’s broken~ You knew he was broken.”_ **

_“I don’t care. I need to help Jervis somehow.”_

**_“You could use fear toxin~”_ **

Jonathan felt himself swallow.

He could hear Scarecrow singing the idea over and over, the idea intrusively looping in his head so much he could barely think through how it might help or not.

It was something other than tactile stimulation that would actually get through. His brain was looping it because it was an easy solution therefore. But no, he had to work out if it would truly help or not before he could use it, at least on Jervis.

**_“You want to use it on him. We’ve always wanted to use it on him.”_ **

_“I know. But if it won’t help then now is the worst possible time.”_

He forced Scarecrow’s thoughts back to rationalise this: Fear toxin stimulated their worst fears. Jervis’ prime phobia was reality. What would that likely do to him when stimulated in this situation?

Jervis was shutting out reality now, or attempting to. Fear toxin could force him back into it. But it would be _forcing_ him...

Maybe tactile stimulation was kinder...

**_“Throw him in. He’s strong enough to survive.”_ **

_“He... is mentally strong. Maybe one of the weaker formulas...”_

**_“Yes...!”_ **

_“It would be more unpleasant for him though. But, looking at the long-term...”_

**_“Do it do it do it~”_ **

Jonathan felt his body begin to rock forward of its own accord, pulled to get up from the bed. He gave into the tug, feeling too powerless when he looked at Jervis. Before he realised it he was in his laboratory inserting a syringe into one of his spare bottles – _“It was inevitable; I was going to use my fear toxin on Jervis at some point.”_ – drawing the sickly yellow liquid up past each of the small dosage lines to a precise point about half-full.

On the way out, syringe heavy and yearning in his hand like a need, he paused though. Head cocked, staring in consideration, Scarecrow egging him on again, he took the spare costume from behind the door; already near-naked aside from shorts and boxer briefs it was just so easy to put on.

Jervis’ state had remained unchanged when he returned. He appeared to be mumbling soundless words to himself sporadically, snatches of half-conversation. With eyes closed and ears covered, mind making every attempt to block out the world, Jervis didn’t even react as the slim, metal needle of the syringe sunk into the soft flesh of his thigh. The contents were deposited with equal ease, Jonathan watching both the disappearing fluid and Jervis’ face in turn for reaction, to make sure he missed nothing of this.

Extraction of the syringe however, though cleanly accomplished, suddenly startled Jervis back into awareness.

His dilated eyes stared at the sight of Jonathan crouched beside him in full Scarecrow get-up, empty syringe held up in hand and shadowed gaze doing nothing but watching expectantly through the eyeholes of his mask ready to analyse a result.

Fear toxin always took at least a few seconds to reach the brain and begin having an effect, especially when injected in the lower body. Jervis’ terrified disbelief was entirely organic, a complete death of all hope as he realised what Jonathan had just done to him.

Jervis’ attention focused entirely on the empty syringe as a panic response began setting in, rapid breathing and a new nervous energy twitching his system as if desperate to escape. The fear toxin still shouldn’t have begun to set in yet. But had he ever tested this particular formula on someone autistic before? Perhaps the natural predisposition to activation of the flight-or-fight reaction in such a case was to blame.

If anything, Jervis then seemed to calm after a few seconds. It was an obviously unnatural calm though, even for a situation like this. Jervis settled comfortably where he sat with arms hugging his legs, going distant.

“What do you see, Jervis?” Jonathan asked, voice soft and suggestive.

Given a complete lack of response, Jervis appeared not even to have heard him.

“Jervis?” Jonathan tried a little more normally.

And of all things, of all reactions to his fear toxin he’d ever recorded, Jervis simply sighed, resting his chin forward on his knees.

“Jervis?”

“’”I’m sure I’m not Ada,” she said, “for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn’t go in ringlets at all; and I’m sure I can’t be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! She knows such a very little!”’” Jervis quoted rather plainly.

Scarecrow grumbled a little but Jonathan shifted closer, engaging with the puzzle. “Are you not Jervis right now? Whom do you feel like?”

Jervis sighed again, the thing devolving into more of a groan as he ran his hands up through his hair and buried his whole face in his knees now. “No, I’m Jervis. Jervis Tetch...” He sounded so weary, so wretched about saying it. “That’s all...”

Of course; if he feared reality then of course he would still be aware of whom he was. Perhaps even more than usual. “What do you see, Jervis? Open your eyes.” Cruel, perhaps, but in the interests of getting Jervis through this and out the other side stronger-

“I don’t need to open my eyes, Jonathan,” Jervis told him, still so defeated and miserable.

Auditory hallucinations then? Perhaps tactile? This formula didn’t discriminate between the senses, instead favouring vivid, holistic hallucinations of the victim’s fears. “What are you experiencing, Jervis?” Jonathan leant in very close, only curious.

Jervis shook his head against his knees, that was all.

Well, there was nothing in the fear toxin to compel an answer; plenty of subjects didn’t, but that was often because they were too busy screaming instead. Jervis had no such reason, or so it outwardly appeared at least. An internal reluctance then. What reason would he deny Jonathan the information for though? “Jervis, why won’t you tell me?” This response was fascinating in and of itself anyway, the lack of any external symptoms of fear and an emotional disposition tending towards the downwards and melancholic as opposed to a state of heightened psychological arousal. But still, “Jervis?”

 _“Of course they don’t like you; you’re different to them. You want to be liked, Jervis, don’t you? It’s okay, I can teach you how-”_ “’”I’m sure those are not the right words,” said poor Alice, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on.’” _“It’ll be all right. It’s a good thing he’s gone; you saw how he was acting lately, those horrid things he tried to do. I know it hurts but I’m still here for you, Jervis. If he really cared about you at all he wouldn’t have left, would he?”_ “’”I must be Mabel after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! Ever so many lessons to learn!”’” _“Jervis, why won’t you speak to me? You know I don’t have anyone else and we both know you can’t cope on your own. Why do you have to be so difficult when I’m just trying to help you? You can’t avoid me forever, Jervis-”_ “’”No, I've made up my mind about it; if I'm Mabel, I'll stay down here!”’”

The quotes were growing steadily harsher, causing even Jonathan to pull back slightly. The pauses between the sentences made them feel almost like half of a conversation but Jervis only mumbled soundlessly or pulled his face into a grimace during the gaps before spitting out another quote.

 _“I'll cut that cowl off your neck before you take her! I've waited my whole lonely life for her!" "Then all you've waited for is a puppet. A soulless little doll." "It didn't have to be this way! You made me do this to her!"_ “’”It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying, "Come up again, dear!"”’” _“All I see before me is yet another costumed troublemaker who thinks he’s something special, but in reality is only a sick and troubled criminal. You belong in Arkham Asylum, Mr. Tetch, where I sorely hope you can be helped back to a normal life-”_ “’”I shall only look up and say "Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I'll come up: if not, I'll stay down here till I'm somebody else."”’” _“What do I think about this new Mad Hatter character? Just another loony best forgotten about in Arkham, and not even one of the interesting ones; no one’s going to miss him much either way-”_ “’”But, oh dear!' cried Alice, with a sudden burst of tears, `I do wish they WOULD put their heads down! I am so VERY tired of being all alone here!”’”

People had cried from his fear toxin before, the overload of terror in their system, but never the truly miserable tears Jervis seemed on the verge of now. His quotes had practically dwindled to nothing by the end, the vengeful anger they had been muttered with before having slowly given in to a helpless, abject state.

Jonathan crouched before him in equal helplessness, watching Jervis continue to withdraw against the assault of the reality he was experiencing. Then Jonathan reached out to him, hand halting nervously by eventually connected to nudge Jervis by the shoulder.

Jervis flinched at the sudden touch, but it drew him out after a second. He looked at Jonathan crouched before him, in full Scarecrow costume, one arm still reached out near him in concern, blue eyes still bright as they watched through the holes of his mask and the empty syringe of his world-famous fear toxin still dangling from his other fingers.

And suddenly, Jervis began to laugh.

He laughed with increasing madness, absolutely ecstatic despite everything. Jonathan could only crouch and watch, blinking behind his mask as he waited a long time before Jervis’ laughter began to abate.

Chuckling, and wiping mixed tears from his eyes, Jervis slowly regained himself again. “S-Sorry, Jonathan,” he practically giggled. “It’s- It’s just...” He got a few more giggles out of the way so he could properly explain. “All the unhappy, lonely, boring things those hallucinations showed me, how wretched my life is and has always been. And then I saw a man dressed as a scarecrow in front of me, who runs around town going ‘Hroo Hraa’ and who sneaks out when he thinks I’m not looking to feed the crows in our back garden pieces of popcorn,” Jonathan frowned behind his mask that that particular game was up, “and whom I love, and who actually loves me back.” Jervis gave a rather whimsical smile, rocking slightly where he sat hugging his legs still. “You know, reality suddenly doesn’t seem so bad these days.”

“...You laughed,” Jonathan stated, tucking his legs under him to take a seat cross-legged. “The only other person who’s ever been able to laugh after being exposed to my fear toxin is the Joker.”

“Well, I suppose he must fear reality as well then.”

“I highly doubt it,” Jonathan dismissed.

Jervis’ attention drifted off again, slight twitches and distracted gazes suggesting he was still hallucinating despite his lucidity. “...Just like the Joker,” he finally murmured, sighing. “I suppose I am actually mad then. I called myself it, as did many others, but... I’ve not been mislabelled, nor am I just having fun. I genuinely am mentally ill to a very severe degree.” The words sunk in as he said then, causing Jervis to wilt somewhat again.

“Indeed. I said as such when I was outlining why our relationship may not be a wise idea,” Jonathan reminded him. But belatedly realising that didn’t help, “...It does take a while to sink in. After the initial displeasure, acceptance will make it easier though.”

Jervis shrugged in as pleased acceptance of that as he could. He remained somewhat distracted as he murmured again, “I really am mad... ...I suppose I’m not actually naked though, am I?” He looked down briefly into his lap.

“Um, no,” Jonathan confirmed, raising a slightly perplexed eyebrow at the boxers adorned with cute, rainbow-coloured unicorns still on Jervis.

“I thought so.” Yet he gave no reasoning for why the fear toxin was making him hallucinate that. Jonathan was going to have to chalk that up to the whole ‘really being mad’ thing. Besides, he was more interested in the way Jervis was rubbing at the backs of his hands as if there was something there; there wasn’t in reality, although he supposed it was the reality of Jervis’ life as he perceived it that he actually feared. Studying more closely, it was almost as if Jervis was trying to pluck something from the middle back of them. “How long does this toxin last, Jonathan?” he asked, a little anxious-sounding but still remarkably lucid and calm.

“A few hours, although there is an antidote to this version.”

“Well, would you mind?” Jervis entreated him, rubbing a little harder with his nails now and trying not to let instinct make him glance at something across the room.

Jervis was still hallucinating; these hallucinations appeared to be worsening if anything too, standard when the subject had a lack of distraction from the toxin’s effects. He had mostly come to terms with his fear of reality comfortably however. Therefore, “You have a second phobia,” Jonathan realised, and the instant flash of pure fear across Jervis as he stared like a poor rabbit into the headlights confirmed it. “You told me your other one as deflection – It’s likely the lesser one therefore, or the one you fear me exploiting less.” Jervis not only stared at him in terror now but twisted away, something else too terrifying to ignore anymore across the room now. The subject’s general fear level amplified the toxin’s effects like that; what control Jervis had had before was- “Oh.” The pieces fell together rapidly, tumbling over each other as the whole hidden dam burst and slotted together so perfectly in Jonathan’s mind. “You’re afraid being controlled.”

If he had to guess the hallucination Jervis’ hands were puppet strings he couldn’t remove, although what lay across the room remained a mystery for now. Jervis seemed torn between that and Jonathan as the more terrifying thing he needed to keep his attention on. It was a little pleasing he eventually settled on Jonathan of the two.

“You control others to prevent them controlling you. You kept this fear from me as knowledge allows increased control over someone, particularly in my case; you’ve often reacted with increased fear when you realise you’re showing fear in my presence for the same reason, because you believe I’ll be able to control you with it. I was being dominant, controlling, on the bed when all this set in, and when I injected you against your will. The one fear you did tell me was another method of retaining control by controlling what information I had to deliberately lead me astray.” And, looking at Jervis’ utter dread now, “But you’ve lost that defence now. You’ve lost all control now to me, Jervis.”

Jervis tried to edge away from him for the first time in their association, whimpering and murmuring snatches of worried quote to himself. Whatever was across the room kept him from going far though, leaving him ultimately still cornered with Jonathan sat right beside him.

Jonathan took his time considering the situation, what he could do and what he wanted to do in light of this information. There were many possibilities on both accounts – As he had said, he had the control now – It was entirely up to him what happened to Jervis now.

Unfolding his legs, Jonathan stood, earning a cowering flinch from Jervis. He left the other man and room though to head to his study, returning with a newly-filled syringe in hand. Jervis looked no more thrilled about this one but, “Relax, it’s the antidote,” Jonathan explained as he took a firm hold of Jervis’ slightly trembling arm and sunk the needle into his flesh.

Jervis remained in a state of terror as he watched the slowly depleting liquid but made no move to struggle free at least. The syringe slipped out as easily as it had gone in, Jonathan waiting with close attention through the few seconds it required to take effect.

Eventually the outward symptoms of panic began to recede, first to the calm but still-affected state Jervis had displayed before under its influence, then entirely. Jonathan removed most pieces of his Scarecrow costume in the meantime, mentioning he was briefly leaving to return it to his study which was now accepted with a nod instead of anxious abandonment issues.

The slightly sluggish, mental-dampening effects of the antidote were beginning to kick in by the time he came back – Nothing worse than the strong over-the-counter painkiller included in the recipe combined with the fatigue from Jervis’ fright – He crouched and offered a hand or more to help Jervis up depending on how much he was trusted, if at all.

Jervis seemed uninclined to move for now. Instead, “How fitting we are,” he mused with a tired amusement; “Me with my fear of being controlled, and someone who controls others by their fears...”

“I’d argue I still have rather a way to go in terms of being able to control people by utilising their fears; it mostly consists of nonsensical screaming and hallucination-induced chaos currently,” Jonathan commented technically. But on a more emotive level, “It is, as you say, fitting. A fair trade-off for the fact my existence and presence in your life seems to cure your fear of reality.”

Slowly, Jervis dragged himself to look up at Jonathan properly again. Having had his offers of help ignored for the moment, Jonathan had taken to crouching like a happily curious child, butt tucked to his heels and arms wrapped around his knees, chin pillowed on them as he watched Jervis and waited with a faint smile on his face; to be practically the pure opposite of the source of someone’s fears was the sort of thing that could draw such an unguarded expression from him, the power of fascinated bemusement overpowering his usual ‘resting bitch-face’. “’” _I_ should advise you to walk the other way,”’” Jervis responded with a small amount of bitterness, sinking back to staring listlessly across the room. “Doesn’t that actually simply provide you yet _more_ control over me, Jonathan? To have a cure that you can take away at will?”

“Do you think I will take it away?”

Jervis spared half a glance for the sheer sincerity of the question. But Jonathan was no doubt trying to trap him into admitting the degree of trust or otherwise he held, yet more knowledge that could be used for control, especially on such a dangerous subject.

“In order to exert control over you using your fear I need to be present with you,” Jonathan continued. “Leaving you denies me that however; it’s one or the other, Jervis.”

“...Check and mate, hm?” Jervis spat a little resentfully, conceding there was now no way out then.

“Did it occur to you that having control over you through your fear also means I could use it to do good, to help you?” Jonathan asked. When he got no more answer than a rather chary raising of Jervis’ very blue eyes to him, “I suppose it all depends on how much you trust me, Jervis.”

And there it was, the ultimatum that signalled Jonathan would say no more on a topic until he got the proper response he was deserved.

What to say? Oh, but to not answer was just as bad; even delaying seemed suspicious. Time for an honest answer then... “...With one of my cards on it would be impossible even to use something like a safeword or hand signal to signal distress; would you allow me card you, Jonathan?” Jervis asked. Jonathan stayed quiet, patiently waiting in neutral, until Jervis continued, “...Would you let me teach you how to use my cards and control band, Jonathan, so that you could card me at some point?”

Jonathan startled slightly, raising up in his crouched position; he understood the meaning of that gesture, what those cards meant to Jervis in light of his newly-discovered fear. To giver over his most precious invention, his coping mechanism for his deepest fear, “You continue to amaze me, Jervis,” he said genuinely.

Though he blushed slightly, “It will be a long-term thing, you understand; it’s something I will need to... work towards,” Jervis said.

“Of course, but I know that unlike most you will not back out of this.” Jervis shifted uncomfortably, confronting the reality of the future before him now. “It took time, a few years, to overcome my own phobia of crows when I was younger. That was... not easy,” he admitted, “but even if they remain a very emotionally potent stimulus for me, it’s a positive one now; I actually enjoy their company. It will feel wonderful in the end.”

“Oh please. My fear of a lack of control extends even to my control over myself,” Jervis said more cynically. “I simply want control back from my own phobia, which, I suppose...Does that mean I’m only reinforcing it?” he began to wonder.

“An ouroboric fear,” Jonathan commented, enthralled. “That will be fascinating to study; sometimes the line between poison and cure is thin indeed.” Jervis gave him a flat look to drop the poetic self-pleasure and perhaps try being reassuring, or at least move the subject along. “I expect you need to rest now,” he decided pragmatically.

Jervis simply looked at the hand he was offered again, and their bed across the room.

Noting the reluctance, “I need to apologise for my behaviour earlier, Jervis; I have been so starved of affection historically that I got carried away and failed to pay proper heed to the signs of your distress. And I suppose I may have found your fear response somewhat appealing in close proximity,” he added needlessly.

Very needlessly, as Jervis warily muttered, “’”Suppose it should be raving mad after all! I almost wish I’d gone to see the Hatter instead.”’” But he sighed, accepting, “I should have attempted to voice my discomfort sooner as well.” He placed his hand into Jonathan’s, allowing the help to his feet and back across to the bed. Crawling in under the covers to sleep was the only action on the cards then, something Jervis proceeded with instantly.

He looked back to find Jonathan still stood at his bedside though, observing the bed and situation before him. “Would you like me to put any other clothes on?” he asked, having been in only his boxer briefs since returning from ditching his Scarecrow costume.

It really did speak to Jervis’ exhaustion that he hadn’t noticed until this point. He took his time noticing now, staring at the little, orange pumpkins on the tight, black fabric for a good while. When Jonathan shifted about and cleared his throat in prompt, “Oh. N-No, I don’t mind, Jonathan. What with the weather warming up and all...” He left the rest of the excuse to be filled in if Jonathan wanted.

Jonathan only nodded, moving to head around the bed but stopping along the way to collect what clothes had been discarded earlier in the evening.

Jervis observed this, and the one remaining, small piece of clothing he still had on. Jonathan was taking good care of his other clothes, moving them correctly to the laundry basket or chair for tomorrow without even needing to be directed. A thumb brushed over the most recent new hole in his arm, the one the antidote had gone into, reflectively moving back-and-forth for a moment. “...Jonathan, I... It is rather, particularly hot tonight, wouldn’t you say?” It wasn’t a lie, but it was perhaps a small exaggeration. “I-I mean, if you wanted to...” he really couldn’t bring himself to say it, not in more than heavy blushes and glances at their respective underwear.

“...Oh.” He succeeded in making Jonathan blush too, a rare achievement indeed. Uneasily rubbing at one cheek, Jonathan supposed, “I-It is about time, I imagine. The timings do seem- After what we did earlier I- Yes,” he decided eloquently.

“I-It’s nothing we haven’t seen before, in the showers at Arkham, after all,” Jervis chattered nervously, slipping back out of bed for the moment. “It’s not anything remarkably special or...” Yet once removed he held his boxers back up in front of him modestly.

Jonathan was a little more casual about the thing, although quickly turned away under the pretext of putting his in the laundry basket.

Jervis followed, although somehow more intimate than looking down at Jonathan’s fully revealed body was Jonathan holding the laundry basket lid open for him. Such a tedious, uninteresting thing, and yet here was someone standing beside him even during that, no shame or fuss. No embarrassment or shying away from the parts of reality stories allowed him to escape.

Jervis dropped his boxers in sheepishly, finding Jonathan studying him with a rather intense look as the lid dropped shut. One hand raised cautiously, aware of earlier, but with every obvious intent it wanted to reach out. “May I touch you, Jervis?”

He nodded since it was only aimed at his chest. “J-Just not down...” His hips shifted slightly, thighs tucking in a little defensively.

Jonathan only wanted to touch just the pads of his fingers to Jervis’ bare chest, slowly sliding them around one side and arm to progressively pull him into a hug. Jervis’ toes curled in the carpet of their bedroom – _Their_ – as he hugged back, face buried into Jonathan’s chest and smaller body almost engulfed by the larger one. Every inch of contact was as alive as static, tiny hairs reporting each natural movement as they stood simply breathing in and out together, Jonathan’s heart beating so close to him.

“Would you like to go to bed now?”

Jervis nodded against Jonathan’s sternum, nose tracing the smooth, slightly curved bone easily; Jonathan’s skeletal lack of weight seemed so scary and unnatural to most, but suddenly it only seemed so vulnerable. Even his very bones had so little on to protect them, nothing to cushion the hard blows and cold of life. Jonathan felt so very fragile as one retreating hand traced the individual bones of his ribs with ease while they pulled apart.

In bed, nothing but one bedside light left on- “Oh, wait,” Jonathan grumbled, remembering the glasses he’d had on since returning from where he had left them earlier in his study.

Jervis lay on his elbows watching as Jonathan removed them, folding them up with thoughtless instinct to drop on his bedside table after so many decades of practice. “You look different without your glasses on,” he observed, leaning on a palm.

“That does tend to be an effect when one alters some external aspect of their appearance,” Jonathan responded dryly.

Jervis rolled his eyes. “You look younger, softer. Less Master of Fear, more... Disciple of Fear again instead.”

Jonathan eyed him pointedly as he settled into his side of the bed, facing Jervis. For all the authority and cold indifference they lost, Jonathan’s eyes were able to be far more intense without that protective barrier before them.

The lamp still casting its long-shadowed, angled light over them, “Why haven’t you let me meet Scarecrow yet, Jonathan?” Jervis asked in pure curiosity, also lying down ready to sleep. “Or does it not work like that? I’ll admit, accounts in the media and such are often contradictory whether he’s a separate being or-”

“He is,” Jonathan insisted, gaze slightly elsewhere. “I wanted you to get to know me first, is the only reason. I...” He almost let himself hesitate into silence again there, but, “...want to have someone I don’t, for one reason or another, have to hide behind Scarecrow when I’m with.”

Jervis raised an eyebrow at that, but it seemed he had gotten all the begrudging elucidation he would get that night. He shuffled over in acceptance, reaching out for the light. “Well, I would like to get to know him at some point, if you’d both be partial. ‘”You can see just a little _peep_ of the passage in Looking-Glass House, if you leave the door of our drawing-room wide open; and it’s very like ours as far as you can see, only you know it may be quite different on beyond.”’”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, although it was rather lost as the light went off at that moment. “I should have expected the looking-glass comparison, I suppose.”

“’”If you knew Time as well as I do,” said the Hatter, “you wouldn’t talk about wasting _it._ It’s _him._ ”’” Figuring it was perhaps a bit late for quotes when he didn’t get an answer to that, “Either he’s a reflection of you, yes, or else Fear itself incarnate. It intrigues me a little, I’ll admit, that I might have been spending all these nights next to someone who’s the living vessel of such a primal force.”

Jonathan chuckled, moving to drape himself over Jervis. “Is that what you think of him?”

“Oh good Lord, is he listening?”

“He’s been back with me since a week or two out of Arkham, when the medication wore off.”

“Oh good Lord,” Jervis said again.

Jonathan pulled them into a more comfortable position, spooning. “He’s very excited by the prospect of getting to use your cards on you, as am I.” His hands held the tops of Jervis’ in their embrace, fingers lacing together. “It’s an honour, we recognise.”

“Well, you did inject me with you fear toxin finally...” Jervis muttered about the matter.

“You’ll meet Scarecrow in time too,” Jonathan assured him, “when I’m ready.” Jervis turned a little to try and cast a gaze back, but it was too late right now. “You’re welcome to try your cards on me tomorrow in return by the way, Jervis; I believe it might be good for me to understand a little more about them.”

“I’ll teach you all about them with time,” Jervis assured him back. “’”He won’t stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’d do almost anything you liked with the clock...”’”

Jonathan smiled into the back of Jervis’ head as his mumbling quotes trailed off, holding their naked bodies together tightly in their bed, his own curled both possessively and protectively around Jervis’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some comfort if you found this chapter distressing, this is the last time Jonathan and Jervis will have problems like this. It's not the end of the potentially triggering stuff but they learn from their mistakes when it comes to each other; it's one of the reasons their relationship works because they finally have someone they trust enough to experience and learn these things from.


	9. A Veritable Modern-Day Speakeasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That heads-up I gave about chapters becoming increasingly thematic instead of chronological begins applying in force here; the latter part of the chapter takes place in the future while the next chapter starts where the earlier part of this leaves off.  
> BTW, Jervis isn’t swearing at the start of this. Don’t worry, you’ll get a translation in due time...  
> Also trigger warning for graphic stuff with needles/syringes later this chapter.

“Jervis?” Jonathan wandered the upstairs hallways of their house, heading onto the downstairs ones. “Jervis?” Calling for him probably would have had more effect had Jonathan bothered raising his voice at all while doing so. But neither of the external doors had opened; it hardly seemed worth the bother when he only had a house’s worth of room to search for, “Jer-”

Jonathan really hoped he had cut off his call soon enough. He let his head cock slightly as he watched Jervis down on the floor doing push-ups in a rather pleasingly tight T-shirt, small but far-from-scrawny muscles swelling and flexing with each one.

Eventually Jervis reached a natural conclusion, breathing heavy but satisfied as he now knelt on the floor, gathering himself from the effort. “...Kaum acovat tute dick?”

“What?”

Jervis knelt up back onto his heels, smiling knowingly. “I know you’re there, Jonathan; you’re far from subtle at times.” Jonathan frowned a little, still somewhat confused too. “Did you need something from me, perchance?”

“...Oh yes.” He remembered now. “Oswald texted me about some contract work he wants me to do. I’m going to the Iceberg Lounge tonight to collect the details.”

“Contract work?” More importantly, “May I come?”

“I suppose,” he only said because it seemed a waste of Jervis’ time. “It won’t take long.”

“What time?”

“Any time this evening.”

Jervis clapped his hands lightly in that camply gleeful way. “Still time to work on my poleaxe technique before tea!”

“Why do you exercise so often?” Jonathan had to ask. Not that he was, you know, complaining.

“That last time I happened into the Jabberwocky was a close one indeed; unlike you, my dear, I haven’t had the time to gain a more criminally athletic physique by natural means.” Getting to his feet and wiping the light perspiration from his brow, “Besides, isn’t one meant to do this sort of thing after one ends up in prison?” Jervis made a show of flexing and inspecting one bicep.

Not a bad show, but, “You’re in an insane asylum, not a prison.”

Jervis shrugged it was much of a muchness. “Maybe I should get a tattoo...”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Wearing clothes that aren’t adorned with fluffy, cartoon animals might be a better first step.”

Jervis’ arm moved across his chest now, had flattening in faux-shock to defend the cotton-ball of a rabbit on it from such cruel words. “Well, I’ll have to keep my shirt on for the rest of my exercises then if _that’s_ how you’re going to be about it.” Tutting, Jervis wandered out of the other end of the room to go find his poleaxe, taking all of his clothed, increasingly-well-defined muscles with him.

“...Well, damn.”

~#~

Like any good Englishman Jervis gravitated naturally towards the back of the queue outside the Iceberg Lounge as they approached. Jonathan did no such thing however, walking forward along its side as if the people weren’t even there. Admittedly it wasn’t the longest line, so Jervis didn’t feel too terrible about running to catch up, but, “Aren’t we going wait in the-?”

Jonathan simply nodded at the large, imposing bouncer heading the queue and strode on in, throwing the clear glass door open with ease. Jervis nervously hesitated if he was would be stopped for following, but since his hesitation seemed to be thing most earning him scrutiny he darted forward and fumbled the closing door open again behind Jonathan.

Checking his top hat was still on his head, “O-Oh, I suppose since you’re here on business we’re allowed to skip like that?”

“All of us rogues are on the VIP list- Or the established ones at least,” Jonathan cast a glance at Jervis. “Make a good impression and more of a name for yourself and you’ll be granted the same in time.”

“VIP...” Jervis turned the alien idea over on his tongue, then looked up as the plushly carpeted entrance gave way to the wide, main room of the Iceberg Lounge before him. The cool blues and whites, the sparkling ice and glass, clinking drinks and urbane chatter- He startled as Jonathan pulled him to one side out of the way of the guests that had been allowed in behind them, pulling him over to one of the bars along the side of the room. “It feels as if the police are going to storm in any moment to ‘break up the place’,” he mentioned as he was dragged.

“Prohibition was ended in Gotham some decades ago,” Jonathan made a slightly amused point of.

“I know. It’s just the feel of the place.”

“It may be,” he agreed, “but Oswald wouldn’t take kindly to you mentioning it; a wilful, city-wide-ignorance is the only reason this place _is_ still operating considering, well.” He didn’t need to say what. Instead, “Hello, Marco. One of mine,” Jonathan held up a single finger to the bartender across the polished, ice-like bar. “Jervis?”

Caught in the headlights, Jervis looked around for some sort of list. “O-Oh. I’ve never... I don’t...” Maybe there was one of those pictorial menus like at ice cream vans-

“Another St. Martin’s for him,” Jonathan ordered for him.

“Oh, Jonathan, I don’t-”

“It’s non-alcoholic,” Jonathan guessed correctly, leaning against the counter while he waited. Jervis skittishly took in the room again in the meantime, hoping he wasn’t holding anyone up. This seemed like the quieter of the bars though, not the one a scattered group of lonely men occupied most of the stools of or the other for food. Most patrons seemed to be at the sparsely arranged tables around the floor area, a minimalist declaration the place had space to waste and privileged cultivating an air of scarce desirability to drive up prices instead of aiming for sheer quantity. There were a few booths, an upper area a select few looked down from and two long, high tables in the middle of the room around the edge of what looked like- “Here.” Jervis startled a little less this time, accepting the hazy, earth-coloured drink placed in his hands as Jonathan thanked Marco for them and passed over a $10 bill. “Where do you want to sit?”

“Oh, don’t you need to-?”

“Oswald will find me when he’s free.”

Jervis looked again to the centre of the Lounge then, wondering aloud, “Are those really...?” Sensing the rest, Jonathan urged him to go see for himself. He followed Jervis across the wide expanse of pale, ice-blue carpet to a part free from the high, bar-like tables where there was nothing but silver railings between them and, “Good Lord! There really are real penguins here!” Jervis confirmed joyfully, setting his drink on an empty table nearby as he climbed right up to the railing to watch. “Are those emperors?” he pointed out the closest, familiarly black and white birds slicing their way playfully through the water on this side in something almost like a game of tag.

“Kings,” Jonathan answered from his seat at the table Jervis had selected. “There’s some Humboldts around somewhere, probably hanging around the iceberg at the centre.” Jervis put a hand above his eyes, trying to better make out the creatures he could see past the glare of the shining ice and water. “I forget the Humboldts’ names but the kings are named Claudio and Juliet.”

“ _Claudio_ and Juliet?” Jervis leant back finally, leaving the side of the railing to join Jonathan at the table.

“From _Measure for Measure_ , Oswald’s favourite Shakespeare play.”

“Oh, don’t talk to me about Shakespeare,” Jervis tutted, examining his drink now he had seen Jonathan take his sip of his. “The town nearest where I grew up was his birthplace; nothing ruins something for you like growing up in a local economy that revolves entirely around tourism of that thing. I was sick of him before I even read a single play.”

“Ah, Stratford-upon-Avon?” Jervis managed to keep the drink he had been raising from spilling as a new voice cut in. “I always aspired to visit, but I suppose I couldn’t beg a guided tour out of you in that case.”

Jervis stammered wordlessly for a moment at Oswald Cobblepot suddenly sat in the seat beside him, nodding a mutual hello to Jonathan across the table before turning back to Jervis with an amused quirk of the mouth. “...’”The first thing in a visit is to say, “How d’ye do?” and shake hands!”’” He clamped his hands over his mouth as soon as Jervis realised the quote that had come out, groaning in embarrassment and then delicately drumming his fingers on the tablecloth as he attempted to find some more polite words of his own.

“And similarly citatious salutations to you,” Oswald humoured him, taking from inside his suit an envelope to pass across to Jonathan. The longer-armed rogue made up most of the distance for him, settling back in his chair with the sheaf in one casual hand while he sipped his St. Martin’s with the other. “So, the West Midlands then?” he continued to Jervis. “I must say, it is nice to have another compatriot finally amongst this sea of yanks.”

“I-I wouldn’t mind giving you a guided tour, if we were ever back there,” Jervis responded, a few beats behind. “Wh-Where are you from- Oh, I’m being terribly forward. I-”

“Berkhamsted, Hertfordshire.”

“Oh, my mother was from near there, Hatfield!” Jervis sat forward a little more, nervousness transforming a small part into enthusiasm “I would have liked to visit, had she not been at such odds with her family.”

Oswald snorted lightly. “It must be something in the water down there.” Jervis blinked a few times, trying to parse that loaded-feeling mutter- “As much as I do appreciate the extra attention members of my fellow, felonious flock bring in, you don’t need to come in full regalia, as it were.” He nodded to Jervis’ get-up.

“I didn’t.” Jervis attempted to look it over himself; it was only a simple shirt and slacks with a waistcoat. There were the spats, he supposed, or perhaps the blue and gold stitching of his waistcoat- “Oh, do you mean my top hat?”

“Rather recognisable, I would say.”

“As one top-hatted rogue retires, another invariably rises to fill his place,” Jonathan added into the conversation without looking up from his papers. “It’s well known you’re like phoenixes.”

Jervis lifted it off, rectifying his impoliteness by placing it on the table but not before tilting it up slightly to display the control band inside. “I only wore it in case I was required to use my cards. They only have so much effect without the control band, and I’ve heard tale of what the streets of this area of Gotham are like.”

“Ah, is that it?” Oswald took a keen interest in the hat and one of the cards Jervis flicked out from inside his sleeve with magician-like skill in demonstration. “Fascinating. Can you truly place any human being at your full influence with them, as they say?”

“Well, considering I can overcome the survival instinct by instructing people to attempt suicide with them I’d say that constitutes full control of a sort, yes. I’m developing ones for various animals as well; I have mice so far, but I could try birds perhaps.” He cast a glance at the penguins nearby. “Although I suppose they can’t yet compel people into certain tasks; I’m currently having a little difficulty working on ones to compel the full and complete truth out of people whenever you ask them questions. These tend to be more for the realm of physical actions,” He inspected the 10/6 card wavering back-and-forth in his hand; “as much as they can compel speech, I can’t use them to reach into people’s brains and have them say things I don’t know are in there to compel in the first-” Any attempt at apologetically stammering for his rambling on was killed by the new expression that had grown on Oswald’s face.

Chin cradled in one thoughtful palm, Oswald was regarding him with a cunning and hungry intrigue. “Compelling the full and complete truth out of people? Would the control band be required for that?”

Jervis’ hands wrapped around his drink, the glass having lost some of its original cool at this point. “A-Ahh... I probably shouldn’t be telling _you_ of all people valuable information, should I?” he dared to say.

The light passed across Oswald’s monocle in a glint as he grinned wickedly. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, dear Hatter. Not if we stay on good terms with one another, yes?”

Jervis looked with a sigh to the rogue he hoped he could trust. “Jonathan...”

“You dug the hole,” Jonathan replied nonchalantly. “I can throw you another shovel if you like though; it ought to score me some more points with Oswald.”

“Jonathan...!”

Ignoring him, “I have all the supplies necessary,” Jonathan confirmed to Oswald. “It will take time however; such a complicated and volatile compound can only be created in small quantities at once for safety.”

“For this transaction I was instructed quality and not time was of the essence.”

“In that case I can probably have it done in about two weeks.” Jonathan folded up the instructions, cramming them less gracefully into a pocket of his jeans.

“Excellent!” Oswald held up a finger to a passing member of staff, signalling to Jonathan before returning to business. Jervis kept his gaze on Oswald’s hands as they discussed business though – ‘Payment through the usual channel’ and all that – He really did have the deformed hands of the cartoons and comics, two ‘fingers’ if they could be called that more like sections of a flipper. Politeness pulled Jervis from staring further, instead following the brief and rather circuitous conversation about the business transaction; he’d gathered enough from Jonathan beforehand to work out it was some sort of regular arrangement for Jonathan to produce chemicals that wouldn’t have to pass through the usual, monitored channels, mediated by Oswald as middle man. It paid well as a semi-regular side gig, and Jonathan had seemed nothing but happy to take it. “Ah, thank you.” Oswald accepted a drink from the staff member he had signalled to before, another of whatever drink Jonathan had ordered for them both.

Jervis looked at his own untouched glass, the trapezoid ice cube clinking merrily about against the sides as he lifted it to inspect. It had grown somewhat tepid but turned out not to be the sort of drink that suffered from that taste-wise: Light, fizzy and a sweet punch to the teeth. It had a darker aftertaste though, a shadow that lingered in your mouth after you swallowed; it wasn’t an unpleasant one, almost a sort of smoky, earthy like a good cup of tea. Jervis ran his tongue around his teeth, detecting the tint of mint as well- Wait, “This is a Fox’s glacier mint,” he recognised the strange, suspiciously un-melting ice cube for what it was.

“What?” Jonathan interrupted his own conversation with Oswald.

“It’s a form of boiled mint native to England; I import some for the bar,” Oswald answered. “You don’t know? It’s your own recipe, you twit.”

Jonathan frowned off the playful tease, inspecting his own more carefully. “I thought they were just mint-flavoured ice cubes.”

Oswald tutted and rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“’”Is that your invention too?”’” Jervis looked from the drink to Jonathan. “It’s your recipe?”

“More like a standing order, an accident,” he explained. “I couldn’t find a drink I liked so I ordered a number of things I liked and mixed them together. Oswald found a way to capitalise on it,” he said in an ‘as ever’ tone, “and had the others create signature drinks as well.” Jervis’ followed Jonathan’s thumb to a board headed ‘Rogues’ List’ beside the bar they had been served at. “Mine’s orange juice, lemonade, unsweetened iced tea and whatever these mint things are.”

“O-Oh, should I create one?” Jervis took an initiative, putting a finger to his chin already as he asked Oswald.

“Now, now. There’s no need to rush,” Oswald said with a slightly forced smile. Suitably shamed, Jervis got the message. The smile took on a slightly more pitying tone at least. “For future record, tea doesn’t count,” Oswald added.

Jervis took the small kindness he thought was in that, returning to the drawing board in his head with earnestness.

Oswald regarded him with a chuckle now. “Interesting junior you’ve found yourself,” he returned to Jonathan.

“Partner,” Jonathan corrected.

Oswald’s head canted slightly, one eyebrow rising slightly. “That wasn’t a mere joke of Edward’s? You’re actually...” his light blue gaze flicked between them, scrutinising the situation.

“We’re...” Jonathan frowned as he ran into the wall of, “What do you want to call us, Jervis?”

“Hm?” Jervis returned to the present reality with a little bit of a bump. “Oh... Is ‘boyfriends’ too immature? Yes, I suppose ‘partners’ is the most fitting, but it does rather leave things open to other interpretations by the wilfully oblivious.”

“We live together, hold both romantic and sexual attraction towards each other and have attempted to engage in sexual relations; call that whatever you believe most fitting,” Jonathan stuck to.

Oswald’s eyebrows leapt up now. “Oh.” His gaze held a new sincerity, almost a vulnerability, as he looked between them and settled on Jervis. “I... I always thought you were...”

Jonathan cocked his head, blinking in his slow way before filling in, “I will assume something like ‘incapable of that sort of feeling’?” he guessed. “I did experience such feelings at times as a teenager and college student but was thankfully left alone or able to suppress what minor feelings I did experience as an adult. At least until I met Jervis.”

Rather than take issue with some of the potential implications of that, ones he knew Jonathan didn’t really mean in relation to him, Jervis continued to observe the way Oswald was looking at him; the expression on his face was a hard one to place, not at all disgusted or anywhere on the negative spectrum, but neither pleased for a friend either. Not just yet at least. First there was that vulnerability, a thought-filled surprise and almost uncertainty. But then it did settle out in time into a surprisingly soft smile, something so human and genuine on the infamous Penguin it gave Jervis a momentary flush of empathetic sadness. But Oswald quickly turned it away. “I’m very pleased for you, Jonathan,” he congratulated.

Jonathan shrugged uncomfortably, obviously unsure if it was anything that deserved congratulations or how to take them if so.

“Ah,” Oswald continued, “you ought to consider sticking around a while longer if you can; I’m not the only one who wished to speak to you here tonight.”

Jonathan frowned at that. “Who?”

With a laugh, Oswald had returned to his confident self-ease of before. “Oh my dear Jonathan, that would take the fun out of it.” Jonathan’s face continued, even more strongly, to disagree. “I’ll leave you now to your fate- Or perhaps that should be one of the Fates.” Oswald rose, nodding to Jervis. “It was charming to make your acquaintance, Mad Hatter; I look forward to a number of positive, future associations with you.” Consternated, Jervis attempted to parse precisely what that meant. “And once again, congratulations to you both.” With a partial bow, Oswald took his leave of them to attend to other patrons of the Lounge.

Jervis sipped his drink, continuing to frown as he enjoyed letting the taste wash freshly through his mouth again. “The Caterpillar has plans for me, doesn’t he, Jonathan?” he passed his verdict, continuing to watch Oswald’s back disappear away from them into the crowds baying for his attention.

“Oswald always has plans for everyone; I wouldn’t worry about it,” answered the more experienced voice. “He seemed remarkably fond of you for a first meeting; normally he’s not so quick to genuinely warm instead of merely making an act of it.”

Though he raised an eyebrow at the assessment, Jervis supposed, “Well, we do share a number of similarities, as was highlighted in the conversation. You and he...” Jonathan hummed for him to continue. “...I didn’t expect the two of you to be such good friends, I’ll confess. The two of you don’t appear to share any similarities.”

“No, we don’t appear to. But we do.” Jonathan set his drink down a little sombrely, voice softening in a way Jervis could nowadays pick up on. “Oswald was one of the original two rogues along with the Joker – Technically he was operating even before that, but of course everyone only started paying attention when Batman came along – I was number three. There was a good while when it was just the two of us, considering the Joker is, well.” His features knitted slightly, memories of a vivid chair to the face returning momentarily. “We didn’t get on back then, Oswald and I, but over time-”

“Over time you two lonely, physically unique bachelors of abnormal height finally found friendship and acceptance with one another, together melting your frozen hearts of stone,” a new voice butted in like a butt, thoroughly enjoying herself.

Jonathan’s scowl this time held no fond playfulness, though no true malicious intent either, as he glared over Jervis’ head.

Jervis attempted to pivot round but two clawed hands settled on his shoulders first, causing him to tense up in fear beneath them. “’Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!’” A low, feminine chuckle – Almost a purr – followed his mumblings before he felt an actual jawbone settle against the side of his head, rubbing gently into his hair. “Oh no, it’s caught me, Jonathan!” For all he was playing, Jervis was truly anxious as he attempted to pull away from the space-intruder nuzzling him.

Jonathan’s eyes were spitting a new kind of venom now, a jealous one, as Jervis was finally given enough chance to pull away and get a good look at perfect olive skin, a shock of carefully swept black hair, those magazine cover good looks-

“’Physically unique’?” Jonathan quoted acerbically. “How about I pass that little euphemism on to Oswald, see how quickly he throws you back out into the alley and locks the cat-flap behind you?”

Selina Kyle smirked imperturbably, having slunk into the seat beside Jervis. She was leant forward with casual grace on one elbow, Jonathan regarded with nothing more than light amusement across the table. “Ozzie knows what I think of him; he’s an adorably soft, little bird with just the right sharp, dark little accents in his plumage. You on the other hand,” A slight grin stole across her face, “I don’t even know what genus whatever God-forsaken creature you are belongs to, Jonathan.” He merely rolled his eyes, occupying himself with his drink instead. “For all you pal around with Eddie, you’re no second tomcat for me to play with sadly. But you do know how to make that special fear-suppressing animal sedative, and have an outstanding debt to me I believe.”

“That’s what you wanted, is it?” He sighed. “How much?”

“Same as last time, and no, that’s not all.” Her gaze slid over to Jervis. He shrunk beneath it, whole body tensing ready to skitter away at the first sign of movement. “So, this is your new, little mouse?”

“M-Mouse?”

“Most people can’t see how cute mice are and hate them as vermin.” Jervis flinched away as a hand extended out to pet him. “But the more intelligent see their true appeal.”

He ducked away repeatedly with enough displeasure for her to drop her game, clawed fingers settling on the side of his chair instead of him. “As lab mice, Duchess?” he sussed.

The corners of her mouth turned up in a feline smirk as she chuckled in a ‘What can I say?’ gesture. “I’m sorry; you look fun to toy with.” At his petulant little scowl, “You are a cute, little one, aren’t you? I didn’t think Jonathan had such good taste.”

Hesitantly eyeing her now, and Jonathan who looked rather dumbfounded by the comment, Jervis settled for taking the compliment at face-value. “You... You think I’m cute?”

“Mmm...” Selina drew out like a purr, settling with her chin on both curled hands to study him. She had a good few inches on him even sitting and he recognised the playfully predatory edge to the scrutiny. “You’re an adorable little thing just like Ozzie. I like a little more eccentric style these days; I’m tired of all those goody-two-shoes, straight white teeth and this season’s latest fashions Mr. Perfects,” she tutted with a dismissive, bitter tone.

“W-Well, it’s very kind of you to say,” Jervis responded, “but I am spoken for, you know.” He nodded awkwardly across the table at Jonathan swirling his glacier mint round in his nearly empty glass with a good scowl on.

She laughed. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that; I only like to play.” He raised his eyebrow at what he thought was the euphemism in that. “You like to look good, don’t you? Or like you didn’t just roll out of a pile of straw through your wardrobe on your way to the kitchen in the morning at least.”

“Bite me,” Jonathan added perfunctorily.

“Umm...” Jervis simply swallowed, uncertain.

“Would you like to go shopping sometime, Jervis?” Selina finally took a little pity to clarify. “I normally go with Pamela or Eddie but you look like you’d be such fun to shop for.”

“Like a dress-up doll?” he suspected, although not with much actual aversion to the idea he found.

“Entirely my treat.”

Well, if that was the case- “Seriously, Jervis?” Jonathan interrupted from across the table, the considering expression on Jervis’ face surprise enough.

“I actually rather enjoy shopping, Jonathan – Although mostly I like to just window-shop.” Selina started making very approving noises now. “Besides, you said I ought to have some more clothes for each of our different hideouts. And I’ve been losing weight lately,” He patted his slightly trimmer stomach with pleasure; “I think I might even dare to wear shorts again now.”

“All you need is- Oh, I suppose a hat would probably make _you_ more conspicuous...” Selina frowned, tapping one claw-like nail against her jaw thoughtfully. Jervis raised his gaze as much as he could to his bare hairline, fussing with a hand as he wondered what could be done about the thing. “Ah, I know. I have this oversized white tuque with a rabbit face and fat, floppy little ears on it. Throw on something casual under that and no one will recognise us.”

“Truly?” Because, well, he’d recognised her in rather remarkable time even with moderate face-blindness for these things.

“Well, they won’t care if they do,” she said more plainly. “So long as you wear something far enough from your costume to show you’re not out to cause trouble we rogues can get away with anything in this city.”

“True; Two-Face had a place in the same apartment building as me, second floor room 2, for over a year and no one said a thing,” Jervis supposed.

“Harvey?”

“We only crossed paths a couple of times; I’m not surprised the Tweedles didn’t recognise me in Arkham.”

That really hadn’t been the point of the matter, but Selina just chuckled. “So, Friday? It tends to be crowded enough no one pays any attention to us then.”

“’”And in the Eighth Square we shall be Queens together, and it’s all feasting and fun!”’”

Selina looked briefly to Jonathan at the funny, little exclamation, then took that as assent enough. “I’ll come by and pick you up, along with my sedative.” She looked over to Jonathan with a self-satisfied grin.

He merely flicked a hand at her, cantankerously agreeing in his own way.

She reached out to Jervis, telegraphing her movements this time so he wasn’t perturbed by her scritching his hair with her hand briefly. “See you then, Jervie.”

He knelt up in his seat as she slunk away again, watching her go over the back. Once she was out of sight too, “She likes me,” he dropped back down comfortably into the deep blue cushions, seeing what was left of his drink. “Wh-Why does she like me, Jonathan?”

“Because you’re a man and you played along with her flirting; Selina likes men she can toy with.”

“She’s not going to... you know...?”

“She won’t force herself on you, no- Well, not unless you want it.” And the accompanying frown suggested he had better not. “She’s like her namesake however; you need to set boundaries and be firm with her or she’ll keep pushing for every bit she can get out of you.”

“Oh, don’t worry; we had a pet cat when I was a boy. I recall how to handle them.”

“Good.” Jonathan stood, in his pragmatic way wishing to leave as soon as business had been concluded. Although as a final thought, “Why does she think you’re cute when I would calculate our standing as roughly equal in regards to conventional attractive standards? What’s wrong with me?”

Jervis caught the bitter, little mutter and chuckled, draining the rest of his drink ready to leave as well. “You heard what she said Jonathan; she’s tired of Mr. Perfect men with straight white teeth and all the latest fashions.”

“I’m going to fear gas you again when we get home.”

“You see? Just too charming.”

~#~

It was another night a few months later when Jonathan and Jervis, heading to the front of the line once again ready to enter-

Or, that had been the plan.

“H-Hang on!” the bouncer at the door called, halting them with something on the spectrum of confusion instead of hostility though. “Did you leave at some point, u-uh... M-Mr. Scarecrow?”

Jonathan eyed the lad up with cold disdain, matching him for height if not width. “Leave?”

“I-I already let you in tonight- O-Or it looked like you. I, um.” He looked to Jervis; even with the rather casual clothes that large nose and overbite were unmistakably the real Mad Hatter. “He- He had a scarecrow costume on, like I’ve seen on TV, and he looked like the Scarecrow does on the news under his mask- B-But you look more like...” The bouncer swallowed hard, in no doubt this time that-

“I have not entered this establishment yet tonight,” Jonathan stated clearly. “Someone has impersonated me to gain entrance, you mean?”

The oversized boy tried to stammer out an affirmative, but succumbed to simply having to nod repeatedly in daunted terror.

Jonathan sighed, directed away at the doors. “Are you new?”

“L-L-Last week.”

“I suppose I am one of the more impersonateable rouges,” Jonathan rubbed at his forehead momentarily before settling the matter internally and heading in.

Jervis lingered to comfort the bouncer, “I don’t think he’s mad at you – ‘”And perhaps as this is May it won’t be raving mad”’ – Jonathan’s more likely to be angry at the impersonator.” The bouncer nodded repeatedly in gratitude, fidgeting with his large fingers in the buttonholes of his near-new uniform as he took a few deep breaths, ready to face the rest of the line again. “I can’t say the same for Oswald though,” Jervis threw back in warning as he entered, causing the boy to nearly choke on one of those supposedly calming breaths.

Jervis caught up to Jonathan just past the entrance where he stood arms folded and brow fully furrowed surveying the Lounge. There was no commotion to be noted; a less intelligent imposter who had done so would inevitably have drawn Oswald’s attention and his game would instantly be up. Someone quiet then, intentionally trying not to draw attention unless he had some particular scheme afoot in doing all this.

As soon as his harsh gaze fell upon him, Jonathan set off in long strides with a single-purpose mind across the cool, light carpet. A slight diversion around some tables let them come upon him practically from behind, Jervis hurrying in a slight jog to keep up; a tall, skinny brunette of a man sat at a table alone near the central penguin enclosure of the main area, discarded burlap sack beside his glass and a poor-looking costume thrown together as clothing. The flash of a syringe and Jervis knew to fall back on this one, merely waiting at an observing distance.

“So,” Jonathan said as his elbows settled on the man’s shoulders, syringe of fear toxin dangling from his templed fingers onto the man’s head and no doubt sending a horrific shiver up his spine, “come here often? Or is this simply a phenomenal case of luck, two men like us happening into each other here tonight?”

The imposter’s head began to slowly turn-

“It’s exactly who you think it is,” Jonathan cut his coy mockery of a flirtation for a hard, dark tone. “And this,” He waggled the syringe, letting it scratch across the man’s scalp sensitively, “is exactly what you think it is, full of exactly what you think too. And it’s no more an imposter than I am.”

“Pl-Please! I was just-”

“I literally don’t care what ‘you were just’.” One hand tightened into the imposter’s similar choppy hair – Although plain brown instead of that special cinnamon brown of Jonathan’s, Jervis noted – Jonathan leant forward unnaturally around the side of the man’s head, looking him dead in the eye as he brought the syringe of fear toxin down into sight as well. “A true Scarecrow could handle his own fears. Shall we see how you do?”

“No! No, please!” This time his raised voice got attention, a number of tables around dropping quiet instead of merely watching and whispering about what they thought was going on. “Oh God! I’ll l-leave! I didn’t mean to- Please don’t-!”

“No fear toxin?” Jonathan asked. “All right.” He actually turned away, watching slowly as he emptied the syringe into the man’s drink, pale yellow somehow managing to stain the cocktail with a sickly, unsettling edge. That done, Jonathan hooked a thumb under the plunger and lifted it again. “We’ll go with air then; less fun to watch, but it is pleasantly fatal.”

“NO!”

The death-grip on the man’s scalp wrenched him back into place long enough for Jonathan to plunge the syringe into his neck, simply letting it hang there as his vigorous struggling jerked it this way and that still stuck in his neck. “Now, now; you’re going to rip a vein open like that.

“GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT!”

His repeated yelling went unanswered as he struggled in Jonathan’s grip, working himself up into such a flushed, hyperventilated panic that in a couple of minutes he slumped faint in Jonathan’s arms. Jonathan simply pushed him forward onto the table, reclaiming his syringe from the man’s neck with a moderate trickle of blood. “Wonderful; now I can’t use this one.” He inspected with a frown.

“You have hundreds at home,” Jervis mentioned as he walked up to the scene finally. “And what does it matter if you re-use needles? You’re worried about giving your victims hepatitis?”

“I have no reason nor wish to inflict that sort of collateral damage on them; it does nothing to help my plans,” Jonathan said. “And besides, contamination might impair the effects of my fear toxin; it’s unscientific.”

Jervis accepted that with a fellow scientist’s nod, leaning forward to inspect the unconscious imposter. Standing again, he pulled his set of cards from a pocket, sifting through to one and sticking it on the man’s closest temple. Jonathan observed the ‘11/6’ marking on it. “It won’t prevent him waking up,” Jervis explained. “He’ll wake up conscious but unable to move or even speak, with absolutely no idea why.” He looked up to Jonathan, feeling a delighted flutter at the cruel grin that spread across Jonathan’s face as the implications became clear. “Torture him verbally for a bit, then put a syringe of fear toxin on the table- I presume you have a second?”

From his waistband Jonathan took out his hidden spare and took a seat at the table to wait. Jervis took one on the other side of their new plaything, beginning to consider tipping the man’s drink over his head to wake him up after as waiting grew boring before remembering the card would even prevent something as simple as an opening of the eyes or groan to alert them of his return to consciousness. Jervis motioned Jonathan to leave him a moment longer in that dark, immobile state of conscious before adjusting his hat; his floppy, white rabbit tuque it may have been, but it could still fit and hide his control band as well as any top hat.

“Awake?” Jonathan began, relishing every word as he leaned in close enough to let the imposter feel the breath on his cheek. “Any idea where you are? ...No answer to give me? Oh, that’s a shame. And rather rude really, wouldn’t you say? I believe I’ll have to teach you a lesson about that.”

Jonathan moved back, simply sitting there for a long moment to terrorise the imposter with nothing more than dark, unknowing silence. Who knew what he could be fetching after all – More fear toxin? A scalpel? His scythe?

“Pity,” he began again, just when the pause might have started to feel like comfortable relief. “I couldn’t find what I wanted. I suppose I’ll have to do this old-fashioned way by hand. It won’t be as quick, or as painless, but at least you’ll be saving some electricity. Do you care about environmental issues?”

He continued with a mix of verbal description of the torture he had lined up and almost friendly conversational questions, just that constant little reminder his victim couldn’t even give an answer to such simple things in his state.

Aware of the public setting and before the unfulfilled threats grew hollow, Jonathan nodded to Jervis before long that he had had his fun.

Jervis had the man sit up in his chair, no reason not to give him good posture while he was being tortured, and open his eyes. Getting a proper look at the imposter for the first time he could see how the man had gotten in but really, he fell into the uncanny valley when it came to looking like Jonathan; clumsily sharp features instead of the predator-like delicacy of Jonathan’s, pale blue eyes that were weak and washed out instead of like ice and absolutely no poised, deliberate grace in how he held himself.

Jonathan put the syringe of fear toxin on the table directly in of the imposter’s gaze, canting his head to Jervis in expectant trust.

Jervis had the man’s gaze focus on it first for a solid moment, then one of his arms rose, hand reaching out to pick the syringe up with finesse considering the movements were all second-hand. The syringe was lifted, turned towards himself where it hung ominously for a moment, before plunging forward into his own neck, completely deploying the contents into his own bloodstream. Jervis had the man remove the syringe and set it down before gesturing for Jonathan to do the honours and remove the card.

The imposter got all of a second to panic and attempt to run before the fear toxin, injected so close to his brain, kicked in and he tumbled to the floor of the Lounge screaming and clawing at his Scarecrow-like outfit. Between the fits of terrified screams and pleading they picked up enough to work out what he was hallucinating about with such fear.

“I can’t believe I was impersonated by an arachnophobe of all things,” Jonathan remarked disdainfully, simply watching the man writhe and tear at himself in front of every single person in the Lounge. Jonathan sat back with a sigh, taking a good moment’s appreciation before supposing, “The classics are such for a reason though.”

“Is your business with him complete then?” Both turned to Oswald stood a little ways behind Jonathan’s chair, also watching the screaming man on his floor with impassive unconcern.

Jonathan took a few moments longer to savour the scene, before announcing, “I’m done.”

With a click of Oswald’s fingers the security who had come to stand by moved in to grab the still-writhing imposter, hauling him off to the exit.

The two torture-buddies at the table sat back more comfortably, turning to Oswald for a verdict.

“I suppose gratitude is in order for providing such a strong discouragement from future instances of impersonation,” Oswald admitted.

“Too much?” Jonathan checked.

“No, not from you.” Oswald’s gaze slid across to Jervis though. “You’ve picked up quite a thing or two in just these few months.”

“Do you mean my hat?” Jervis feigned innocently. “It was a gift from Selina, the same day I picked up those wonderful skinny jeans for Jonathan.”

Mildly uncomfortable with the attention, Jonathan tucked his legs and the distressed, grey-brown skinny jeans on them under the table.

Not before Oswald had got in an appreciative look however. “Was there reason to your visit besides impromptu public torture?”

“Ah, yes!” Jervis claimed happily, producing a small sheet of paper from inside his hoodie pocket – Oswald could say he’d certainly taken the advice he didn’t need to come in costume; Jervis was dressed down in a purple and pink spectrum of hoodie, shorts and mismatched trainers, looking far from his actual age but every bit correct for his mental age, child-like proportions and psychological eccentricity – “I formulated my signature drink recipe finally.” He proffered the sheet to Oswald’s waiting hand.

“Oh?”

“I... I have earned the right to have one now, haven’t I?” Jervis checked less confidently, fingers flexing together in a fidget.

“We will see,” Oswald perused the recipe’s ingredients, when satisfied walking away. The other two followed him to the bar beside which the Rogues’ List was propped up, waiting patiently as the recipe was handed over to the bartender on staff – Jonathan’s stunt seemed to have rather dried up demand for drinks at the immediate present. “The Mad Hatter’s recipe,” Oswald announced to her. “We do have redbush tea, yes?”

“I-I have some with me if not,” Jervis offered, holding up a little plastic baggy of loose, earthy-red tea leaves.

“I doubt we have loose, or as good quality as his probably is,” the bartender replied, taking Jervis’ offering and setting to work.

The wait was the most awkward of all, Oswald perching up on one of the barstools with all the aloof superiority of a judge preparing to give verdict. Jonathan stood by indifferently, surveying the room and the after-effects of his little display earlier. Jervis was the one who felt the wait worst, nothing to do but look down at his fidgeting fingers and wish someone would say something to pass this interminable silence a little quicker.

Eventually the bartender returned with two highball glasses, the same ones Jonathan’s drink utilised. Each had half a drink in it, the test one split between them equally.

The bartender slid one across to Jervis first.

“Is it correctly composed?” Oswald enquired for him to check.

Jervis lifted it to his lips, sipping as much as his nerves would permit. “Um, yes. Although I’m used to how it tastes in a teacup or mug personally.”

“We probably should use those for his,” Oswald made a note of to his bartender, slightly smirking.

“I think there’s some in one of the kitchen cupboards,” she mentioned. “Want me to go fetch one?”

“If you would.”

Another of those incredibly awkward waits, although at least Jervis had a drink to sip at this time. He deliberately kept his gaze away from Oswald and anyone else who might be watching or not, staring into the softly clouded ruby red of his drink instead.

In time she returned with two decently-sized teacups, sliding one across to Jervis if he wanted to do it himself while into the other she transferred Oswald’s drink, placing it gracefully before her boss.

Oswald lifted it with similar elegance, steadying it with both hands to blow on lightly – “One intriguing distinction; every other signature drink currently on the list is chilled” – before taking his first taste.

Jervis awaited with his own hands so close to trembling he didn’t dare attempt to lift his glass.

Oswald made no fancy show of tasting, drinking it as any normal customer in future likely would, before lowering it to consider visually again. Redbush tea, cinnamon and vanilla extract, all slightly thickened with a small amount of dissolved honey; “I think after a full cup of this I’d be ready for bed,” he remarked, a slight smile settling Jervis’ nerves somewhat.

“That’s why I called it a ‘Red King’; he spends the entirety of _Through the Looking-Glass_ asleep, perhaps even is the one who’s dreaming the whole thing.”

After another drink, “I’m suitably impressed,” Oswald held out his cup towards Jervis. Following a quick transfer of his drink, Jervis met it to clink with his own teacup. “Although perhaps that ought to be expected from one as proficient with tea as the Mad Hatter.”

“Does it pass then?”

“Indeed. And on a personal level, such a soporific solution could be very useful for encouraging guests homeward, or relaxing the tongues of others rather fittingly for you.” Sharing a small, implying smirk with Jervis, Oswald hopped down from his stool at the bar to walk over to the Rogues’ List at one end.

Coming up from under the other side of the bar, his bartender held out a marker pen for him. Oswald took it, and with ceremony wrote in his own hand, gold upon black:

**_‘Mad Hatter – Red King’_ **

Jervis hid his beaming grin inside his own Red King, drinking down a good amount of what was left in self-celebration.

“Your name will also be on the VIP list out front now, should you ever wish to come by without Jonathan,” Oswald said, capping and handing back the marker. “Although considering tonight’s incident we need to begin adding photos as well... Can I tempt you into enjoying my company a little longer before you head home?”

Jervis looked up to Jonathan, checking. “Are our drinks on the house too?”

“Oswald doesn’t do all this because we’re friends,” Jonathan said, gesturing at the board and such. “He does it because it makes money. And he has no qualms taking from our pockets in the pursuit of which, no.”

Jervis pursed his lips with slight good-humoured distaste, but a charming smile and raised eyebrow from Oswald made him relent. “Oh, I suppose. ‘”It isn’t etiquette to cut anyone you’ve been introduced to.”’”

“Quite right,” Oswald agreed, leading the two to seats of his choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other Rogue's List drinks
> 
>   * Harley’s ‘Red Diamond’ is strawberries and champagne based. Alcoholic.
>   * Pamela’s is mentioned in ‘[No Smoke Without Fire?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922989)’ as a ‘Cobra Lily’, which is a type of pitcher plant. It has a similarly sweet, alluring scent and a twist of liquorice in it. Alcoholic.
>   * Harvey’s takes advantage of density differences like oil and water to be half-and-half naturally. No idea what specific ingredients though. Alcoholic.
>   * Selina’s ‘Cat’s Cream’ is a milk/cream-based drink. Alcoholic.
>   * Victor’s I have no idea what’s in it but it comes frozen solid, like a popsicle in a glass with no stick, including frozen ice cubes inside. Either be prepared to wait a few hours or get licking. Non-alcoholic.
>   * The Joker’s ‘Toxic Waste’ is a mix of absolutely clashing ingredients and flavours, mostly brightly-coloured sodas and juices, that looks like toxic waste but tastes surprising good. Non-alcoholic.
>   * Edward’s and Oswald’s drinks are described in both ‘[No Smoke Without Fire?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922989)’ and ‘[Smoke Signals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15944225)’ respectively as a ‘Crème de Énigme and Oswald’s unnamed ‘Sphenicaphium’ (Because Oswald is a Latin nerd)
> 



	10. Doubly Lost or Half As So?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a headcanon towards the beginning of the chapter that might feel a bit odd to some people – You’ll know it when you see it – but personally I think it makes far more sense than the alternative that’s always supposed of all the characters in canon.  
> Also my Joker is the one from ‘The Killing Joke’ mainly for the purpose of his allusions this chapter.

Jervis sighed. “I’m sorry, Jonathan. If I’d kept better track of your location, well.” He sunk back into his seat heavily.

“I shouldn’t have let myself become so carried away studying the reactions of the guards to my fear toxin,” Jonathan equally admitted, putting his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him.

“If I hadn’t doubled-back for you at least one of us would still be free now; that was the plan after all.” Jervis also attempted to put his feet up in similar fashion. His shorter legs fell fittingly short however, merely leaving him kicking at the seat of the driver in front of him.

“You only had my safety in mind; I can’t find fault with that when I was unconcerned with it myself.” He finally took it upon himself to remove his Scarecrow mask, tucking it into a recess of his costume for safe-keeping.

Both men sighed, sinking further into the backseat of the Batmobile in defeat.

Bringing his legs, and therefore shoes, up onto the Batmobile’s upholstery to hug Jervis cast a gaze across to Jonathan beside him. His partner met it, eyes flicking away to Batman up front for a deliberate moment, before back to Jervis. A slight incline down of his head, a nod of a sort, and they moved their heads then mouths closer together, sliding into some very blatant making out.

It grew deliberately sloppy and noisy, lips smacking together and teeth clinking, to the point even they eventually managed to drag an honest-to-goodness sigh out of Batman. Pausing, both faces turning in sync, they noted the bat-gloved fingers tapping distractedly on the steering wheel and disgruntled tightness around the mouth reflected in the darkened windscreen. With a shared grin the two in the back returned to their messy necking.

“I thought I had a chance to save you, Jervis.”

Jervis paused, even as Jonathan continued to pursue his lips. “Save me?”

“From getting sucked into all this, the lifestyle they can’t get out of: Hanging out with Oswald Cobblepot at the Iceberg Lounge, going shopping with Selina, those puzzle boxes of the Riddler’s with your skill level of micro-technology in,” Batman said, proving his stalker skills were as proficient as ever. “But I can see you’re a lost cause now.”

Jervis pushed Jonathan away this time, moving to lean over the shoulder of the driver seat in front of him. “A ‘lost cause’? No, no; I still have every intention of completing my research as before – Both Jonathan and I do plan to reform when we’re ready, you must understand – It’s simply that I can do so much more of it now! Projects that you might have allowed but the others on the team never would have approved of-”

“Wait,” Jonathan interrupted, pulling Jervis back into his seat just in time for a sharp corner fortunately.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jervis presumed; “you didn’t want me talking about our plan to-?”

“No, not that. What do you mean ‘team’?” Jonathan asked. “You’ve worked with Batman before?”

Jervis frowned at him hard for a moment, just as confused now. When the penny finally dropped though, “’”Stupid things! They’re putting down their names for fear they should forget them before the end of the trials,”’” he practically laughed. “Are you honestly telling me, Jonathan, that you all don’t know who Batman is? Even after all these years you’ve all been at it?”

Jonathan scowled at the mockery, but, “Of course we don’t- Well, Edward might, or more likely might claim to. The point is that no one knows; it’d be all over the internet if it was with the way things are these days.”

To that Jervis simply tutted and rolled his eyes. “There are a number of theories, one of the most popular of which is correct. I was around 70% sure simply from my own deductions even before I became a rogue, but there were things that happened and were said during that terrible fiasco with Miss Pleasance that only I, Alice and Mr. Wayne were privy to.” One of his broad grins spread across his face. “He practically provided all the proof one could ever need, at least to me.”

‘Mr. Wayne’? As in _Bruce Wayne_?

But looking forward, there was a tension in Batman’s frame Jonathan’s keen eye for fear could pick out as unease, the sense of a nearby threat tempered by uncertainty; there was something Batman was genuinely afraid of in there, even if he didn’t know what exactly it boded for him. And that would only be the case if... “Batman is Bruce Wayne?”

“It has to be someone rich. Someone that height and build. Wayne Enterprises covers every form of technology and has links throughout this city. Mr. Wayne donates a lot of money to Arkham and pays a lot of attention to its progress with its patients as a board member,” Jervis listed off as evidence.

“Bruce Wayne is nearly always there at those charity functions and high society parties we crash to steal from...” Realisation began to dawn in Jonathan’s voice.

“I hope you’re not going to make any attempts to harm Bruce Wayne given this little theory of yours, Mad Hatter,” Batman spoke up, voice steady and calm.

Jervis took position again over the shoulder of the driver seat. “Oh certainly not; it’s a game, isn’t it? And every good game has its rules! You never come after us during the daytime, thus we return the favour; it’s only fair.” He leant further around the seat, getting a good look at Batman’s face from the side. “‘Mad Hatter’? You called me ‘Jervis’ earlier; a past instinct?” He hummed enquiringly, but was only met with stony silence of neither confirmation nor denial. “No, Bruce Wayne doesn’t need to worry; I still have my considerable company loyalty.”

Jonathan snorted lightly. “‘Company loyalty’?”

“Wayne Tech is the kind of company that deserves loyalty,” Jervis retorted to that, turning back. “Besides, although I’m currently here due to crimes committed in this country once I reform I’ll require a work visa to remain – Unless you fancy a very speedy green card marriage, dear – And I don’t know you where you expect to work, but do you really suppose Gotham University will hire you back after the number of times you’ve stolen from them and gassed their management?” Jonathan sucked his lip petulantly. “You’ll also be relying on Wayne Enterprises’ generosity for any form of employment with your criminal history after reformation, Jonathan.”

“...I suppose,” he admitted, tucking himself back into the corner of his seat in an almost adolescent sulk about the whole thing.

Returning to Batman, “You’re welcome to come to me any time you need help with micro-technology or neurology, Red Knight, presuming we’re not going to be taken as your prisoner in return; I assume you know where we live.” Batman made a grunt-like noise that was probably an affirmation. “Did you know Harvey Dent was living in my apartment building for all those years? They didn’t appear to recognise me when I met the Tweedles again in Arkham however, I must confess. Although perhaps they thought I was a waxwork...” Jervis continued on chattily, paying no heed to the lack of response he was getting from anyone else in the car.

Jonathan simply watched the far-too-familiar scenery of the road leading to Arkham Asylum pass by outside the window yet again. The reflected image of Jervis cheerfully bothering their driver along the way might have been superimposed on it now, but, “If two lost sheep find each other, do they become doubly lost or half as so?”

Jervis finally fell silent, forced into sitting back as the Batmobile took one of the final corners on the route to Arkham. “I don’t know, Crane,” Batman said, gaze flicking between the two of them briefly in the rear-view mirror; “show me the answer.”

~#~

“Home, sweet home,” Jonathan muttered tiredly as they were led, cuffed with armed escorts, down the corridor of highest security cells.

“’”I don’t want to be anybody’s prisoner. I want to be a Queen,”’” Jervis quoted, staring down glumly at his shackles. “I shouldn’t want to start thinking of this place as my home, Jonathan. Can’t our hideout be our home instead?”

“Come on; keep it moving.” Aaron Cash nudged them along with his baton, only gently. “Crane, you’re going in your box first.”

“Oh my. I can hardly contain my joy at the privilege,” Jonathan drawled as the other guard unlocked the door of his empty cell, gesturing Jonathan in.

“We don’t get to share?” Jervis asked as Jonathan got his shackles removed.

“Nope. Can’t think why you’d want to with the plumbing in this place,” Cash said, making sure Jonathan’s cell was locked tight before turning his back to open the one directly opposite.

Well, at least that was something- And oh! Arkham probably simply didn’t know about their relationship when the arrangements had been made; Jervis already looked forward to breaking the wonderful news.

“Here you go,” the other guard held the door open for him, watching over as Jervis entered, “my little _queen_.”

Jervis paused in passing, spitting a brief, “Baulo,” at him.

“What did you say?”

“Oh leave it, Becker,” Cash stepped up to unlock Jervis’ handcuffs. “You toss insults at them they’re gonna toss ‘em right back; they’re human after all.”

Becker tutted but shut up, happy when he could close and lock the door of Jervis’ cell behind him.

Jervis stared through the glass after them until they were out-of-sight, sighed and then peered across into Jonathan’s cell. A directly opposite neighbour could easily watch you use the toilet it seemed; so much for privacy in this place. Well, it was nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Jonathan went straight to bed once his business was done. Jervis followed him in both regards, too late for anything else now.

~#~

Therapy proceeded as normal as they settled back in. So did the medication and all its wonderful side-effects...

As if Jervis’ stomach wasn’t already in enough knots when Jonathan practically slammed his lunch tray down across from Jervis, almost scowling at him. “You told the doctors about us.”

“A-Ah... I-I, ’”I’m sure I didn’t mean-“ Alice was beginning, but the Red Queen interrupted her impatiently.’” Jervis sullenly poked at his soggy pasta, shamed already.

Jonathan sighed, sitting down with a simple, “Well, it’s too late now anyway.”

Jervis gaped wordlessly for a moment, before mumbling, “I-I’m sorry,” through as much of a mouthful as he could bear to swallow right now.

“It’s fine,” Jonathan tried to lift his tone into something lighter for Jervis’ sake. “All morning I’ve had to put up with Young and Leland gushing over the fact I’ve expressed positive emotions towards someone and willingly engaged in intimate social interaction, the fact you’ve gotten me closer to a healthy weight again, asking if I enjoy being touched by you and why we haven’t engaged in penetrative sex yet- How much did you tell them?”

Jervis pressed his fingertips together, fork waggling off to one side between them. “I-I only wanted to show off a bit; I’ve never had a sex life before, Jonathan!” Seeing how dryly that was received, “I told them because I’m proud of our relationship. I didn’t consider you wouldn’t feel the same; you didn’t seem to mind Edward and Oswald knowing about it.”

“That’s different. In here, even despite those supposed confidentiality clauses, everything becomes general knowledge within hours, and public knowledge within a few days.” Jonathan started on his own meal, holding up a forkful of pasta and watching a lump of sauce drip off with disdain. “For that reason we should probably cease talking about it right now. Mealtimes are the worst time for gossip spreading.”

Not even daring to speak again, Jervis simply nodded and let Jonathan change the subject to something else.

Within just over an hour though, when rec time had started and before they’d even got all of the chess pieces set up on the board, “Well, well!”

Jonathan paused. Jervis dared to look up at their new company.

The Joker laughed at the scene of both of them together, a truly amused laugh luckily. “I gotta compliment you both – No one else would ever want you, so you beat the system by pairing up with each other instead; boy, you really showed them!”

“Thank you,” Jonathan accepted as graciously as he could, features firmly pressed in place with a suitable wariness.

“Aw, what’s wrong, Johnny-boy?” The Joker dropped to lean on the edge of the table, staring up with his play-compassion at Jonathan’s face. “Not getting any now they put you in separate cells? Can you get conjugal visits if you’re both prisoners?” And the terrifying thing was his latter question sounded like genuine curiosity.

“The doctors said they might let us share a cell with a little more time,” Jervis mentioned cautiously, checking with a meaningful glance he was doing the right thing playing along.

“Really? Aw, well I’m happy for you! True love can’t be kept apart forever and all that!” The Joker chuckled. “So, when’s the wedding?” He picked up the white queen from Jonathan’s side. “And which one of you will be wearing the dress? I think it’d look better on Johnny personally with that height – And, ooh, those collarbones!”

Jonathan bore it with a simple sigh. “We haven’t made the plans yet. We’ll be sure to send you an invite when we do.”

“Well, don’t leave it too long. Not in this city...” The Joker slid the black king across the board with one acid-bleached finger, setting it beside the white queen so close they were touching as much as the two pieces possibly could. “It’s dangerous to fall in love with anyone in this city...” One green fingernail flicked over the white queen as the Joker lay his head sideways on folded arms, watching with genuine if inscrutable emotion as it rolled away until it fell off the board entirely. After a moment’s more staring into the space it left, he sighed, pushed himself up and walked away.

Jervis watched until the Joker was far out of earshot, not in his usual place laughing it up in front of the TV but in a corner armchair staring at the wall as he absent-mindedly picked at his nails, before asking, “Is that sort of behaviour...? Well, the use of the word ‘normal’ in any proximity to the Joker seems a universal law that shouldn’t be broken but...”

“There was a human being long ago,” Jonathan answered in a lowered voice, “before the Joker – One who was a brilliant chemist or scientist of some kind, having analysed some of the explosive devices and gases he’s made – Some days that human being is a bit closer to the surface again. He tends to be in his friendliest, safest moods during those times, although make him self-aware of that fact and he shifts into his most volatile and dangerous state possible. A safety reaction, I expect; I believe the Joker is a survival mechanism to cope with whatever he went through and thus resists letting his past consciously resurface.” Jonathan picked his white queen up, setting it back in place along with the others. “Something happened that turned a normal human being into the Joker, but as psychologically fascinating as it is any attempt to delve further only serves to bring the Joker back out in his purest, cruellest state. I often think that’s the reason he invents all those different stories about himself as well, for self-protection.” Jervis noted almost the slightest hint of sympathy in how Jonathan’s gaze flicked down for a moment.

“...It... sounded as if he was in love,” Jervis observed, looking again at the man in the corner.

“Perhaps he was. But that human being is to all intents lost now, Jervis,” Jonathan’s clinical tone returned. “Don’t confuse the Joker for him.”

Jervis nodded, watching as Jonathan made his first move. “I simply wondered if even someone like the Joker could be in love, is all. Is there any limit at which a human being truly loses their humanity, and all capacity for human sentiments like love with it?”

“They’re picking at you to work out if you’re really capable of being in love with me as well, aren’t they?” There was a touch of victory in Jonathan’s smirk.

“Of a sort,” Jervis admitted as he made his move. “They seem to want to encourage it when they do believe it however; they perceive it as my having moved on from Alice Pleasance, believing that to be the source of all my problems.”

Jonathan shared his smirk more conspiratorially now as he considered the board. “Not that you’ve simply traded her for me?”

“I think they recognise I’m neither obsessed with you nor in love with a simple mental, idealised image of you.” In response to Jonathan’s raised eyebrow, “Any chance of that went out of the window when you injected me with fear toxin against my will.”

“Is that what they think, or the truth?” Jonathan asked with a deliciously fascinated curiosity.

“You’re the psychologist, dear; can’t you work it out?” Jervis challenged in retort.

Jonathan considered, then moved onto, “Did they really say they’d let us share a cell?”

“If we both agreed. And obviously once they can make up their minds about to what to believe in relation to the two of us.” Jervis found himself shivering slightly as he reached for his next piece. “Just as well, with how cold this place can-” Wait, it hadn’t been that cold until half a minute ago. And it was growing colder still for some-

“Victor.” Jonathan nodded upwards in greeting over Jervis’ head.

Jervis turned around, meeting only a solid wall of blue though. Before he could crane his neck all that way up the wall had moved though. “May I sit with you?” The cold, deep question sent a chill down his spine- Or maybe that was the scraping creak of Jonathan pulling the chair next to him off its poorly nailed-down position on the floor to set a few inches back in welcome.

Jervis was sure he gaped a little at seeing Mr. Freeze up close in personal, that dark yet near colourless skin like a frozen corpse with a tint of anti-freeze chemical blue and shock of hoarfrost white hair. His blue cryo-suit obscured his entire body aside from his head, currently exposed even to the open air. When Jervis was caught reaching out to touch the small, sublimating waves of frozen air spilling out from the suit, “’”Do you know, I always thought unicorns were fabulous monsters, too! I never saw one alive before!”’”

Victor looked to Jonathan for translation. “Jervis has seen us all on TV before; he’s probably just surprised meeting you in person. That and I think you’ve been assigned the Unicorn from _Through the Looking-Glass_.”

None of it seemed to faze Victor’s cool temperament. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Tetch.” Jervis took Victor’s proffered hand to shake from curiosity, finding it as room-temperature as the outside of a thermos flask. “I will confess I often fail to keep up with the activities of others in our group but I looked up yours following Edward’s announcement message; your scientific capabilities are highly impressive.”

“Oh! ...Thank you,” Jervis accepted genuinely, still fascinated by everything about the being in front of him.

“Why have you been allowed back up here, Victor?” Jonathan enquired. “I thought it was considered too much work escorting you out of your cell.”

“They said it was because it was quiet, which considering the Joker’s presence is obviously a lie.” Victor sighed dryly, including some actual dry ice. “I imagine they are under scrutiny again or expecting an inspection soon; my outdoor privileges have even been returned.”

“’”For it might end, you know,” said Alice to herself, “in my going out altogether, like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?”’” Since both of them stared, “Won’t you melt?” Jervis asked.

A smirk touched Victor’s lips. “It is uncomfortable for me if the sun is out. Gotham serves me well as a home in that regard, however.”

“It is rather like being back in England here...” Jervis mentioned, looking over at the overcast sky beyond the windows.

“How is your research coming, Victor?” Jonathan picked up what instantly felt like an old conversation. “Did you manage to find a working reagent by yourself in the end?”

“Regrettably not; all were either too biologically destructive or else ineffective. Do you think you will have an opportunity to look over my results and suggest new alternatives at some point once you are out?”

“Of course. Send them over straight away; I’m engaged in brainstorming for much of my own work presently so I’m bound to come up with ideas for my own research for once if I try to concentrate on yours.” And Jonathan actually shared a scientist’s smile with Victor at that.

“What’s this? Something else that’ll keep you out of bed till past midnight by the sounds of it,” Jervis tutted, knowing he was being utterly blatant in his childish fear of being left out but well... “What are you working on?” he asked Victor, eager even if he had no chance of matching Jonathan in matters of chemistry.

“Although I was successfully able to cryogenically freeze my Nora, our discipline has yet to produce a safe method by which those cryogenically frozen can be defrosted. Jonathan has been giving me assistance in my attempt to find a chemical solution that will protect the body during the transition back to a living state.”

“Oh, do you have a cure for her then?” Jervis pressed his fingertips together happily.

“Sadly not. My research on that front has reached a complete impasse. But that is all for naught if I do not also have this, so while I wait for further research from other scientists or ideas of my own it is prudent to continue work where I can.”

“Ah... If, if I may,” Jervis dared, “what exactly is her affliction? The TV and media have neglected to ever mention it as more than a rare disease or condition of some kind.”

It didn’t seem to bother Victor in the slightest, although Jervis was starting to question if anything could. “Nora has a rare form of autonomic neuropathy, a-” The same thought struck all three scientists at once at the mere mention of that prefix.

“In the brain stem and hypothalamus?” Jervis instantly deduced.

“Yes. In her case it is caused by an autoimmune disorder, her own body causing slow but progressive degeneration of that area of her brain.” Jervis had already taken up a considering pose, his chin poised delicately on the fingers of one arm, elbow upon the table as he stared off into space and Victor continued, “Slowly the various systems of her body from her heart to her respiratory and digestive systems were failing; by the time she was frozen her body was struggling to keep her heart beating and lungs breathing without assistance. That all provides extra difficulties when it comes to thawing her as her body, perhaps aptly,” He self-deprecatingly gestured at himself, “of all things struggled with temperature regulation most of all.”

“She suffered no physical damage to her neck or brain?”

“No.”

“Nor to her wider nervous system?”

“No. Whatever autoimmune problem she has targeted only that area of her body, either thankfully or tragically.”

Jervis considered a moment longer, frowning. “I am formulating a method by which my technology could be used to reinforce or diminish the connections of the brain – For the purpose of aiding memorisation or the forgetting of traumatic associations and such – I wonder if it could perhaps be put to use countering the degeneration, although the brain stem is quite the different beast from the rest of the brain; I’m afraid my research focuses there in the cortex predominately and I have little experience with the autonomic system. All I could currently achieve there is a disruptive technology that disables the whole thing, killing anything in a matter of seconds.” Even Jonathan’s eyes widened slightly at the casual mention of such a horrifically destructive weapon. “That would be the opposite of useful in this case however, obviously.”

“If the degenerative process could be halted it may be possible to treat some of the pre-existing damage, enough that she could live at least,” Victor said. “Although I would prefer to return her to a full life truly; she was such a beautiful dancer and always so willing to help others. Sometimes I think that was what she found hardest about her illness, that she couldn’t assist others any longer in her state...”

While Victor slid into a melancholy, Jervis continued with his brow-furrowed rumination. “I really don’t know enough about autoimmune diseases and the brain,” he sighed. “And as you say, simply halting the degeneration would only do so much now. The regular treatment that would be required to continually strengthen such an area of the brain in the case that couldn’t be achieved as well... It would be simpler simply to...” he trailed off into the middle distance he was staring into, face relaxed into a new neutral by surprise. Jervis adjusted himself in his seat, placing both arms down on the table with hands clasped, he continued staring into that middle distance but also said, “to replace the whole thing. My technology is designed to mimic the natural signals sent and received by the brain. A pacemaker.” His bright eyes focused on Victor again. “I could create a form of neurological pacemaker with my technology in theory, one that wouldn’t require anything to be done about her disease providing it didn’t progress to other areas of her body. It could even be inserted while she’s still frozen to assist with the thawing process; it would be as small as a standard computer chip, surgically inserted at the back of the neck to connect into her spinal cord and nervous system. If necessary it could even act as an artificial bridge to take messages from the rest of her brain to her body were her brain stem to degenerate physically that much.”

“...You could create such a miracle?” Victor asked, voice slow with incredulity.

“In theory,” Jervis repeated. “It would be very advanced, and work in an area I have yet to foray into at all. But with your assistance-”

“Anything,” Victor insisted instantly. “I would owe you everything if such a day came.”

Jervis waved down such uncomfortable ideas. “Please. For all we may be in here for our methods,” He gestured around the asylum, “we are all in science because we want to do good and help people. This could help everyone with autonomic problems if we could achieve such a thing together; I’d love for my research to have such a use one day. Although, perhaps after all I will have done to achieve it no one will trust it any longer when that day comes...”

“If they don’t despite the results then they’re idiots,” Jonathan offered plainly.

Jervis chuckled. “Thank you, dear. The main problem I see is in making it responsive however; the actual hypothalamus and autonomic system receive input from the limbic system in order to do their regulatory job adjusting heart rate and so forth. In theory it’s simply a lot of ‘IF x THEN y’ programming like most computing, however...” He rubbed at the centre of his forehead with two fingers, a headache already forming just thinking about it. “I may need the Dormouse’s assistance with such a complicated task; my current cards perform simple tasks or take input from my own brain and simply transfer it to theirs with a modicum of translation; to make such a reflexive and entirely self-contained system with such dire conditions if it fails in even the slightest way... You would need to provide me an entire guide to the functioning of the autonomic system in order to program a replica one; I may know things such as how quickly cardiovascular and respiratory rates return to normal are an indicator of health but I don’t know if that needs to be the case so as to avoid breaking blood vessels or the like, for example.”

“Those are small problems,” Victor said; “if it is possible, I will find a way for you.”

“They do say the idea is half the battle in science,” Jervis supposed with a modicum more optimism. “This may take a good decade or more, I will warn, Unicorn; do you mind waiting until then for your white bread and brown?”

Jonathan looked to Victor, just checking that actually parsed to someone not fluent in Mad-Hatter. As ever Victor had remained outwardly impassive; although now there was almost a sparkle to his ice-like qualities. “Edward would be willing to assist if necessary,” Jonathan clarified to Jervis. “Oswald pays the costs and looks after the location where Nora is stored whenever Victor is inside Arkham. Pamela has helped out with the chemistry involved as well; we all would.”

Jervis nodded, understanding already. “’”However, I’ve got back to my right size; the next thing is to get into that beautiful garden – How _is_ that to be done, I wonder?”’”

“How are we to escape this place?” Victor guessed.

“Oh, he is a good one!” Jervis said aside to Jonathan, who rolled his eyes but smiled.

“Hmm,” Victor considered, sitting back with a solemn enthusiasm. Even Jonathan slightly surprised at the relative degree of energy in the normally emotionally frozen man. “Together with the two of you and the privileges I have, it may be possible to effect a plan of some kind. Do you have any ideas?”

“Not currently,” both were forced to admit.

“My physical state affords me a degree of superhuman strength,” Victor clarified for Jervis, with the presumption each of them would be brainstorming ideas once returned to their cells this evening. “In part it is the exoskeleton-like properties of my suit but my very body also no longer feels pain as before either; the numbness, or retardation of pain signals from my nerves more technically, allows me to exert more of the strength I have at my disposal without immediate pain.”

“Ah! Just like my technology; the control exerted by my cards also overrides the body’s natural resistance to over-exerting itself giving the appearance of super-strength.” Jervis bubbled and enthused where he sat. “You must tell me all about your condition once we’re out; a lowered internal temperature also ought to retard your brain activity yet you seem as quick as Jonathan or I nearly to talk to you.”

Jonathan watched fondly as, despite what he had literally just said, Jervis began asking questions already about Victor’s physical state. He appeared to have no fear of inappropriateness, or curiosity was prevailing too strongly perhaps; the intention found its way through to Victor at least and he was answering them in good cheer for once.

Well, there was plenty of time to plan later. There was no need to interrupt them right now.

~#~

They had only taken a few steps into the rec room a few days later when-

“Oh boys~!”

Jervis didn’t need telling it was always best to heed the Joker’s calls and provocations; his fun never lasted that long if you played along.

When they came to stand behind his seat on the sofa, the Joker simply pointed them up to the TV with a good laugh.

“I suppose it’s no surprise we should expect two such depraved individuals to do something like this,” one of the two hosts of some sort of talking show was saying, a middle-aged white man with obviously far too grand ideas about how much his opinion mattered to the world.

“We should make it clear, when you ‘say’ depraved you’re not talking about them being gay, right?” his female co-host checked. “You’re talking about them being mentally ill-”

“Oh, of course. I didn’t mean it like _that_. Maybe being in a place like Arkham makes you have to be a bit more open-minded though, or a bit more comfortable being your true self.”

“That’s the thing that gets me,” she picked up; “you wouldn’t really think it of someone like the Scarecrow. The Mad Hatter’s still a new wild card really, even if this seems a bit strange in light of the circumstances that led him to Arkham in the first place. Scarecrow’s always seemed above that stuff; that’s why I find it hard to believe.”

“Oh dear...” Jervis murmured, fidgeting awkwardly beside Jonathan as the TV show continued with its spurious speculation about them.

Jonathan simply sighed. “As I said, once something become general knowledge in here it’s public knowledge within days.”

“I’m very sorry, Jonathan...”

“It’s not... It’s fine,” Jonathan said, leading him over to the table and ignoring the Joker’s pestering why they weren’t going to watch the rest, if it struck too close to home and so forth. “I may be angry but it’s not because I mind the knowledge of our relationship being public, Jervis.”

Hesitating on saying Jonathan didn’t seem angry right now, “I-I was giving it thought after you warned me about this, although I suppose it’s too late now...” Though since he had Jonathan’s attention he went on anyway, “If... If we wanted to discuss matters privately in here – It could be of use when it comes to such things as our _arrangement_ with Victor – I could... tute te mandi could pen Rommanis.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, but it was simply confirmation now that, “You can speak a second language.”

“It’s Anglo-Romani, our language,” Jervis explained in a much more hushed tone, even more than for discussing escape plans. “I shouldn’t really teach it to a gorgio, a non-Romani, like you but in a life on the road our ancestors came to hold the bonds of kith and kin they did have very dearly; I believe my lifestyle now has rather become the same, that you at least are as close as I’d consider family. It’s a language deliberately designed to keep secrets from those who don’t know it – We have a saying that once everyone knows what a word means it’s not Rommanis anymore – and particularly those in authority like policemen and the law.” His gaze flicked briefly towards the guards, checking the distance they were still at. “It’s not used at home in day-to-day life for most, only for special occasions or reasons, but we did in order to keep the old dialect passed down in my family alive; I’m quite fluent- Well, nowhere near as fluent as my father or grandmother were, but enough that, you know. It’s quite simple,” he assured; “the grammar is exactly the same as English so it’s only new words.”

“...Thank you,” Jonathan said after some hesitation. “It would be a very useful tool to have a secret language to communicate in, and I appreciate that you consider me someone you would share such an important thing with,” he explained before addressing his obvious discomfort nonetheless. “That... As you said, it is too late to keep our relationship a secret now. That isn’t the matter I truly wanted to discuss, although I do want to reassure you I am not ashamed of us.”

“I... I wouldn’t have minded if you were,” Jervis admitted, drawing shapes on the tabletop with his fingertip, “but thank you.”

Jonathan sighed, keeping to hushed tones as he said, “When I was a child, if I ever expressed an interest or pleasure in certain things – Be it a book or favourite food, even a stick I enjoyed playing with – Great-Granny formed it into another tool to abuse me with by taking it away, only giving it back when I obeyed her like some sort of doggie treat,” he practically spat. “I wouldn’t put it above the Arkham staff to do the same, especially with the juvenile view many of them hold us in. I’ve learnt not to become attached to most things in my life these days for that reason, but you’re too precious to me. That’s why I didn’t want them to know.”

“Jonathan...”

“Having reflected on it at length these past few days, I believe that may also account for why I don’t.... say or show that I love you enough when we are alone, not as much as you deserve, or I would like to,” Jonathan continued very uneasily, hunching up defensively around his own words.

“Do you know, we’ve never actually said the words ‘I love you’ to one another at any point?” Jervis brought up. “Or that last sentence of yours aside at least.”

“Truly?” Jonathan frowned. “I’m certain I’ve heard you use that ‘I love my love with a H’ quote at the very least.”

“Oh yes,” Jervis snorted lightly. “I’ve certainly said that. I’ve said I’m in love with you. We’ve used the word plenty. But never those three words.” He simply shrugged about it. “I’m glad actually; what we have is far more than three little words every other couple uses to the point of redundancy. You show your love in small ways every day, Jonathan, as do I try to. And I feel that is far more meaningful and fitting to show it in a non-verbal way as autistic people.”

Jonathan’s frown remained. “Is that enough? I mean, I want to say it, or have some way of our own that says it even if it’s as simple as squeezing your hand or arm. It doesn’t feel like enough, what you deserve, if I don’t convey it in some way.”

That took a long moment to sink in; no doubt he would also be reflecting on it alone in his cell for days. Now Jervis replied, “I don’t mind that, Jonathan; it makes the times you do something more special, to me at least. And you also say it in the things you don’t do, that you don’t shut me out from your study and thinkings about your current experiments, or that you don’t stay up all night working anymore so you can come to bed while I’m still at least in some part awake.”

Jonathan smiled now, but his unease continued. “I appreciate your constant small gestures of love however, would find a more wavering degree of affection too similar to the psychological conditioning I received from Great-Granny. I feel you deserve the same.”

“After _my_ upbringing I appreciate honesty of feeling more,” Jervis chuckled. “You have some degree of alexithymia thanks to your... _condition_ ,” Even after everything they had just said Jervis wouldn’t dare to utter the secret of Jonathan’s PTSD here, “don’t you?” Awkwardly, Jonathan nodded. “I wouldn’t want you to force yourself to pin down your feelings when it’s so difficult for you; I can tell what they are, even when you can’t.”

Jonathan’s head cocked, one eyebrow rising as it considered if such a thing was even possible. But, well, Jervis was smiling about it; that was all that mattered.

“I do see your point about this place though, Jonathan,” Jervis continued, returning to the main matter at hand. “But for all they might try to hold this over us, the doctors also seem to consider our relationship beneficial for the both of us recovery-wise; we can just as easily use that as return leverage, don’t you think?” he proposed with one of his devious grins Jonathan was quickly growing to love the sight of.

“Fake deterioration of our respective conditions if kept apart, you mean?”

“Well, I shouldn’t think I’d have to do too much faking on my end, but yes.”

Jonathan grinned too, always a more cruel-looking thing. “I like that; not only would it serve them right, it would also be terribly delightful to reclaim and break that conditioning of the sort Great-Granny put me through.” Jervis nodded, sharing in the delight. “It always impresses me how manipulative you can be in these sorts of ways,” Jonathan continued. “It makes my fear-based approaches look almost like brute-force in comparison.”

“Ah, simply my heritage at work; other cultures might put their highest values on honesty, bravery and obedience to duty or the like, but for Romani our only loyalty lies to our family and cunning hidden behind a face of child-like innocence is our most valued asset.”

Jonathan snorted lightly. “Well, that explains a lot about you.”

“I suppose maybe I always was destined to end up in a sturaban, a prison, like this raised like that,” Jervis sighed.

A silence fell, one that felt like Jonathan’s duty to fill. Studying Jervis across from him in his grey Arkham clothes, staring off vaguely into space in the direction of the TV still chattering away about the lot of them in here and what the rogues gallery of this city was coming to if it was turning into a dating pool, “...Do you think we make each other better or worse, Jervis?” Jonathan asked genuinely.

Jervis considered him in return. “...Did you know if you feed a pig mustard it can’t squeal or make noise so it’s easy to steal; that’s an old Romani trick. Or that our word ‘panni’ means both ‘tears’ and a ‘pool’; I’m pretty sure Lewis Carroll borrowed that one from us too,” he started with a whimsy, before settling more seriously into saying, “Our language, or the dialect I know of it, and culture is all but lost these days; almost no one speaks it anymore. But I finally have someone I can share it with now, and everything else I care about. I know what people say about us Roma though, that many of them would consider it better if our tricks and cultural values did die out, being what they are; all our positive contributions like ‘A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’ or ‘pal’ being our word for ‘friend’ or ‘brother’ have been forgotten, wilfully or otherwise. I don’t know, maybe dying out quickly would better than fighting on in a world that doesn’t want us... What do you think?”

“...Great-Granny would have absolutely hated you,” Jonathan answered with a smile. “So will the doctors at Arkham, and the GCPD. Especially if you teach me this language. But I personally think it would be a shame for it to die out.”

“It’s sim to a choomer, kushto for kek till it’s pordered atween dui; ‘it’s like a kiss, good for nothing till it’s shared between two,’” Jervis agreed joyfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Kaum acovat tute dick’ from chapter 9 means ‘Like what you see?’ (Lit. Love the thing you see?)  
> ‘Baulo’ means ‘pig’  
> ‘tute te mandi could pen Rommanis’ means ‘you and I could speak Anglo-Romani’  
> I should say here that I’m not actually Romani in any way, merely a devoted learner of their culture and language from books and other resources. My knowledge of the language is still in progress therefore, but everything in this chapter is accurate so far as the resources I have read.
> 
> Does Jervis seem OP in this story? If he does in regard to Nora and Victor it's only because I want to hope that one day she could be thawed and they could be together again.  
> I can't remember if Nora's condition is mentioned in various sources so I made up one here; I just liked the idea of her having problems with temperature regulation to match Victor.


	11. A Weak, Little Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slow, sweet, smaller than usual chapter this time.

Jonathan sighed as if cued as Jervis walked into his study. It gave the latter pause, but Jonathan turned round with a small if tired smile to see the other man and the plate of food he was bearing. The weighty book that had been open, almost dense enough to look more like the tool of an alchemist than a modern chemist, fell shut heavily on the desk as Jonathan stood to head to the sink. “I’ll come eat downstairs with you, if you don’t mind.”

Jervis was left blinking a little but, “No, of course I don’t mind. But I thought you were...” He looked to Jonathan’s abandoned research.

“The chemical equations don’t add up as I had predicted,” Jonathan said, methodically rinsing and drying his hands with the skill of a true doctor. “I could no doubt force the answer with more work but my subconscious will work it out overnight for me if I leave it. There seems little point to wasting the time and energy; I would only lose the hours I gained to stress down the line.”

In that case, Jervis brightened. “My, the doctors were right; you _are_ taking better care of yourself with me around.” Jonathan pulled a tight smirk, taking the plate from Jervis’ hands to follow him back downstairs. “We’d best get settled quickly then before the sandwiches get cold; ‘”You see, a minute goes by so fearfully quick. You might as well try to stop a Bandersnatch!”’”

By the time he returned from the kitchen with his own grilled cheese and salad a DVD was already playing, Jonathan’s outrageously long legs staking claim to most of the sofa. Jervis huffed and settled amongst them anyway, mentioning as well while he was at it, “ _Frasier_ again?” with a nod at the TV.

“I set the DVD up; it’s my choice,” Jonathan stated plainly, then shrugged. “It was already in there.”

Jervis sighed, the whole matter more about the principle than the particulars. He had no true objection to the choice, not when the show always made Jonathan both laugh and relax along with frequent amusing comparisons between Niles and Edward, or Gil and Jervis – “Oh? Not Daphne?” “Please no. Although she does remind me of a former student of mine, one I even found enjoyable company at times.” – and Roz to Selina or Pamela depending on Jonathan’s whimsical mood. The growing frequency of these sorts of evenings could only be a good and healthy thing.

Jonathan had scoffed his food down within a couple scenes as usual, some sort of natural hoarding instinct that seemed to kick in whenever he wasn’t sat at a proper table for his strictly ingrained manners to take hold. At least once done he’d wait and offer to carry Jervis’ plate like a gentleman.

He rather eagerly badgered Jervis for a cup of pudding too when reminded they had some in the fridge, ready to take a simple glee just in the whole sloth of getting to eat it whilst watching TV; “I understand why they consider this a disapproved of pleasure now,” he said upon Jervis remarking on the fact.

“You were never allowed to eat whilst listening to the radio?” The closest equivalent he could have had, given Jonathan had grown up without a TV in the house.

Jonathan shook his head simultaneously to sticking it into the empty pudding cup to lick out the leftovers; almost an impressive feat, if it wasn’t so ill-mannered.

“It’s all over your chin, you mucky thing,” Jervis scolded fondly as Jonathan re-emerged. With a gleeful grin, he simply wiped the back of his hand across the mess, also polishing off a chocolate bar by the time Jervis had finished just his pudding. “You’ll get diabetes one of these days,” Jervis warned whilst they briefly washed up.

“I’ll have Victor freeze me until they find a cure,” Jonathan replied seamlessly.

His buoyed mood continued back on the sofa, laying across it with his head in Jervis’ lap to be fussed. Well, some things were worth whatever cost they might have someday. “You always get like this when you eat chocolate,” Jervis observed with amusement, twisting the messy fluff of Jonathan’s hair around his fingers without resistance or objection.

“Phenylethylamine and anandamide,” Jonathan elucidated simply, looking in a sort of bliss at the light physical affection.

“If that’s all it is your brain must be remarkably sensitive to them.” Jervis’ fingers began examining the scalp, more just thoughtfully than for any specific reason. “Perhaps a lack of exposure during childhood...?”

Jonathan smirked happily at the examination. “Should I be concerned about the fact I have such a notoriously creepy neuroscientist currently assessing my brain as if he’s looking to attempt a vivisection?”

“‘Creepy’? My, I’ll have to make sure I treasure such a high compliment from you as that!” Jonathan chuckled lightly. “Your brain would be fascinating to examine, particularly your amygdala... But I think I prefer it in your head for now.” Jervis patted Jonathan’s scalp and returned to playing with his hair.

“...For now?”

“A sensible, God-hating man such as yourself is surely planning to donate his body to science when he dies, and what better science than mine! I mean, I’d certainly let you have mine if it could be of any use to you. In this line of life it may not be that long before we have to confront such a situation.” The stroking through of Jonathan’s hair took on a more sombre tone, one of a sad fondness. “...One of us could die at any time, couldn’t we, Jonathan?”

“Between the Bat, the GCPD, the ineptitude and/or sadism of the staff at Arkham and insane criminals we share the nighttime streets of this city with, certainly; although I have every wish to see it through, I long ago found peace with the fact I may well die in the pursuit of my research before it is complete,” Jonathan said with an expectable lack of fear. “I can only hope one day another is able to see its potential and ultimate direction to continue it for me.”

“...I’m not ready to die, Jonathan.”

The canned laughter from the TV felt fittingly hollow in the very real silence then. Jonathan turned to look up at Jervis from below, at the tight corners of his lips and downturned gaze. “Do you have a will?”

Jervis shook his head.

“Well, it’s too late currently, now that you’re considered criminally insane. Funeral arrangements?”

“I... I don’t know,” Jervis dismissed. “That wasn’t what I meant-”

“Making them helps you confront it emotionally. Even if they won’t be legally binding made in this state, you ought to leave an informal will and last wishes with Oswald at some point; he holds onto them all for us now, considering he’s the only one of us with the legal capability for such things.”

He sighed. “I can’t simply throw a fit, or convince myself I’m the one of us who’s somehow magically immune in all this,” Jervis deflated as he accepted. “It really is very possible I might die soon.”

“If one of us does is magically immune, I think the Joker got it,” Jonathan said bitterly as a brief aside. “Live with little to lose,” he advised more sincerely, before taking one of Jervis’ hands in his protectively. “That’s what I attempted to do...”

“What are your last wishes, Jonathan? Just in case, as it were...”

“Pray you never have to find out,” was all he said on the subject. “...But for the record,” Jonathan resumed as he turned back to watching TV sideways, “I do not hate God. I may hate religion, and Christianity and Christians after all I suffered at their hands as a child, but none of that was His doing.”

Jervis had to blink a few times, both at the subject change and the frankly out-of-character, it felt, admission. “You don’t...? Frankly, I would have considered you have every right to denounce and turn your back on Him after all you suffered.”

“Maybe. But I am under no delusions that was at the hands of humans; human beings are more vengeful and cruel than any god could be. I may have once been angry He didn’t intervene, but with the wisdom of age and a scientist’s Occam’s razor it was simple to resolve once my belief shifted to the idea He is powerless to. A powerless God, despairing of the way his creations cruelly treat each other, unable to help any of them...” Jonathan’s gaze flicked up briefly, checking the reaction he was receiving. “One cannot choose what they believe and have faith in, even when exposed to actions as severe as my great-grandmother’s. What about you?”

“My faith? Well, I believe in Duvel, God, but not a Christian kind despite my Protestant schooling. I’m certainly not religious. Are you truly, after everything you were put through?”

“Not religious exactly, I suppose.” His shrug moved sideways, lying on Jervis’ lap as he still was. “I can’t help still believing in Hell. But if I finish my research and aid people with it that will hopefully be enough to cancel everything out so I can go to Purgatory instead, which I don’t mind.”

“No chance at Heaven?”

“I am under no delusions as to my own morality, Jervis. I have done many things that can only be considered evil no matter what light they are looked upon in.”

“Yes,” Jervis hedged and agreed, “but that doesn’t necessitate _you_ are evil. I’ve always considered you more simply... unethical.”

“Once your murder count reaches double digits, you’re evil,” Jonathan with a degree of wryness that left Jervis wondering, especially if what the TV news said about his one little murder spree was true. “I attempted to reject religion, back while I was at university and in my early days as a rogue,” Jonathan continued. “I found more comfort in realising that the Christians I was raised by weren’t true Christians however, that they would have been a disappointment to Jesus. Their small-minded ideas, prejudiced views towards people of colour and such, choice of hate over love...”

“That is true,” Jervis agreed, noting the genuinely comfortable if small smile it brought to Jonathan’s face in his lap.

“Protestants such as I was raised by don’t believe in Purgatory. But I believe in a Jesus and God that want everyone to have the chance at being redeemed. So however many ribs of mine get broken, however hard I have to push myself in my research so that it can one day help people... I am nowhere near good enough as I cause so much pain along the way; a better person would be doing all this in a much better way. But even someone like me must do what they can.”

Jervis’ hand moved through Jonathan’s hair slowly, reflecting in deep sadness on how engrained some ideas could become. But all he said was to joke instead, “I must admit I couldn’t see Jesus going around fear-gassing people.”

“Ah, but I do gas people regardless of creed and colour!” Jonathan pointed out with a smirk and pointed finger. “And I particularly like gassing rich people. Our initials are even the same.”

“You’re also a ‘Dr. Crane’ but that doesn’t make you Frasier.” Jervis gestured at the TV just as more canned laughter cued. “...Although you would make a good Sideshow Bob.”

Jonathan rolled onto his back just long enough to glare at Jervis. “The last person who went there begged for death.”

Jervis held his hands up in innocent surrender. Once Jonathan had turned back to the TV though, “...I think you could pull off the hair, you know.” He chuckled, pre-emptively knowing to dodge the hand that came up to swipe viciously at him in reply.

Though he went back to work once the episode was over, and when Jervis poked his head in to say he was heading to bed shortly after 10pm Jonathan waved a hand he was going to continue working a while longer, it was only 30 minutes now before Jervis roused from his slight dozing to a warm body slipping in right behind his. A slight exchange of two small hums and Jonathan had checked he had permission to wrap his limbs around Jervis’ smaller body in his spider-like way of spooning.

Within five minutes though, “It’s too hot for this tonight,” Jervis muttered, finally graduating from wriggling slightly to pushing himself up and out of Jonathan’s grasp.

“Sorry.” Jonathan moved off, rolling onto his back.

“No, no. Let’s just,” Jervis pulled up his light T-shirt until it popped off his head, shamelessly shrugging out of his pyjama shorts as well. “’”Now one can breathe more easily,” said the Knight, putting back his shaggy hair with both hands.’” Though he made no effort to right the tousled mess he’d made of his hair, “I think it ought to work much better like this, yes?”

A smirk crept onto Jonathan’s face, visible in the small amount of light still lingering past the sunset into their room. “Are you flirting, Jervis?”

“Flirting? Of course not,” he answered in a wry tone, laying back down propped on one elbow facing Jonathan. “You’ve proven yourself far too dense to bother wasting my many seductive charms on you, my dear.”

The corners of Jonathan’s smirk pinched, but the smirk did remain. After joining in with the shedding of all clothing, “You only don’t flirt because you know you couldn’t handle what I have to give,” Jonathan sassed as he lay back down as well.

Jervis gasped haughtily. “Couldn’t handle it? Why, it’s nothing that _significant_.” His gaze flicked down briefly to signal that, oh, they were going there.

“More _significant_ than you are.”

“It’s proportional!”

Jonathan took a moment just to smirk, fondly now. Jervis gave up his token protesting before long, scooching over to press his lips up against Jonathan’s and begin lazily making out. Jonathan’s arms pulled them close together, Jervis’ held them there as-

Both jumped, Jervis even in part sitting up, at a quiet but definite thump outside the window. A feline yowl caused them both to settle again, Jervis letting out a sigh full of nerves. “You know, it’s not been that difficult to get used to a life of constant over-alertness, but I think it comes at the cost I’ll never be able to go back.”

“You can’t, and we wouldn’t be able to even if we could.” Jonathan’s finger drew softly on Jervis’ chest, heart pleasantly frightened beneath the skin. “But even still, sometimes I feel almost as if I could with you.”

Jervis finally turned away from the curtained windows to him, smiling almost sadly in acceptance. “I suppose you won’t be wound down enough to sleep for a while yet.” He deliberately dropped his gaze down to Jonathan’s hand, the other curled fingers that were nonetheless lingering close to his skin. Catching on, the smallest unfurled to toy at his nipple that had become hard from a combination of the fright, arousal and slightly cooler air outside the bed. “Tonight?”

“Tonight?” Jonathan asked in reply. “I woke you up; you’re not tired?”

“I was only dozing, and I feel relaxed right now.”

“Tactile sensitivity?”

“Average, calm. Just not too many light touches.” Jonathan nodded in understanding. “And you?”

“The same. I’m not particularly sensitive to touch in general, certainly not from you.”

“Is there anything else to take into consideration?”

Jonathan pulled himself up onto long elbows now, considering Jervis lying slightly lower on his back beside him. “...I would prefer to ‘top’? I believe it’s called that. If possible.”

“That seems the natural way round to do for the two of us,” Jervis accepted.

Jonathan smiled, moving over to the bedside table on his side that had been stocked ready. “You’re not the ‘girl’ in our relationship, just to be clear.”

“I know that,” Jervis huffed, folding his arms before he got up to help by taking the box of tissues. “I just meant... Well, I’m not sure if it would even be comfortable with you bottoming,” With it currently presented to him, he pinched what little there was to pinch of Jonathan’s closest ass cheek; “no padding.” Jonathan smacked him playfully with the packet of baby wipes for that. “Besides, you seem to enjoy control in these situations and I promised I’d entrust it to you, as part of my...”

Every symptom of the distantly-boding nervousness that comprised the first stage of a predicted encounter with a phobia was plain upon Jervis’ face and body language. “What do you want to do tonight, Jervis? I may be in control during but this way you have control overall, as well as being something that ought to be asked anyway in every instance of sexual intercourse.” He frowned. “I apologise; that could have been phrased more arousingly.”

Jervis chuckled. “Being clinical about sex is very much part of you, Jonathan, and it’s you I want to have sex with; it sets me at ease, strangely.” Again, that strange expression crossed Jonathan’s face to think he was soothing a fear instead of causing it. “And thank you. Nothing too fancy; we can save the foreplay and such for another time when we’re a little more certain about the main event. Neither do I mind if either of us doesn’t achieve orgasm this time- Or speaking for myself at least.” Jonathan nodded too. “I’d just like to work out how anal sex works, as with...” He gestured with a hand, referring to the episodes at manual and oral sex that had also not yet been about orgasm but merely exploration and gaining comfort.”

“I agree. I’m not quite confident in how precisely to do this in practice,” Jonathan observed the tube of lubricant in his hand as he might an alien’s dildo, “but I will attempt to avoid causing you pain most of all so we do not build any negative associations that would prevent future practice.”

The science-ing had reached a degree that had Jervis chuckling slightly now, but nonetheless, “I am nervous, scared, right now, Jonathan,” he admitted this time. “But I trust you, despite the vulnerability of this; the trust is still something I have to consciously maintain, but I do trust you.”

Jonathan nodded. “Thank you.” He looked uncertainly between the items to hand, then at Jervis for a long while, waiting with a similar unease.

Jervis cocked his head slightly, raising one eyebrow in prompt. But Jonathan said nothing, merely shifted in place. Accepting the situation, Jervis shuffled a little closer and reached out to Jonathan’s half-erect cock to begin caressing up its length gently. “...What you said earlier tonight, Jonathan,” he mentioned, eyes following the movements of his hand; “I think you’re right, about where we might be destined for. I believe the only kind of heaven we’ll ever get now is one we make for ourselves.”

Watching Jervis’ hand as well, but with a clinical detachment that held at bay any potential embarrassment or discomfort, Jonathan shifted about uneasily beneath the touch as those words sunk in. After a few more moments, “Enough,” he stopped softly, a light grip pushing on Jervis’ forearm to let go. “I’m hard enough. We don’t have condoms; do you mind if I...?” He gestured at the wipes with an inclined head. Jervis moved into his lap in consent, relaxing against Jonathan’s chest as the wipe moved between his legs to clean him. “As long as I pee afterwards the risk of a urinary tract infection should be low enough like this.”

Jervis tried not to snigger too loudly.

“I thought you liked me being clinical,” Jonathan complained as they lay down together, placing Jervis beneath him on his back.

“Oh yes; infections – Terribly sexy.”

“It’s a not insignificant possibility during anal sex for the penetrative party.” Okay, this time Jervis had to cover his mouth with a hand to stifle his laughter. “I’m going to fetch one of the latex gloves from my study if you don’t desist in being so childish, Jervis.”

Now Jervis completely hid his face behind both hands, laughing properly. Jonathan allowed himself a similar grin as his first lubricated finger slipped with a surprising ease into Jervis; he utterly was improvising through no intention of his own, but a relaxed state was a relaxed state.

“How does that feel?”

“Nothing too uncomfortable,” Jervis admitted, dropping his hands so only one was now covering his mouth more from a shyness than anything. “It aches from a lack of use in this direction, but there’s no pain.” Jonathan experimented with adjustments in angle and movement. With considerable squirming caused on his part, “Jonathan, come up here and distract me at least,” Jervis pulled at Jonathan’s head and shoulders to meet his while this was going on.

“I’m not very good at multi-tasking,” Jonathan muttered between the kisses he was trying to keep up with.

“Then let me lead this part,” Jervis murmured back, doing just such.

Jervis’s nails ran over the backs of Jonathan’s shoulders, telegraphing his level of discomfort without words as Jonathan’s forefinger pulled back to the tip, his middle pressing in besides as both slid back into Jervis.

A hiss of slight pain dissolved into a moan as Jonathan crooked both fingers onto Jervis’ prostrate. He bit down on Jervis’ plush lower lip in turn as short nails dug in behind his shoulder blades, dragging down the sensitive sides of his spine and urging Jonathan’s body forward, closer, into one with Jervis’ beneath him.

Jonathan’s fingers moved only in small motions back-and-forth, slightly in and out each time, as he focused on Jervis’ fluttering, more desperate breathing, the slight increase in his body temperature, more needy kisses and hands pushing and pulling at him for more. A correct calculation, Jervis tightened at first as the fingers began to scissor open before relaxing around them with a groan wavering between pain and pleasure.

Long-forgotten till now, Jonathan’s other hand that had been steadying him on the mattress moved to Jervis’ thigh on that side with a firm squeeze to ground him. Jervis responded by closing his other thigh around Jonathan’s knelt between, urging Jonathan’s lower body closer as well.

“Ready?”

“Please, Jonathan...”

Jonathan studied Jervis’ pinched face a moment longer, ensuring it was anticipation, intelligence-numbing need and nothing worse than anxiety before withdrawing his fingers, scissoring them to maximum at the knuckles on the way as one final check. Jervis whined, limbs reaching and pulling at Jonathan’s body again.

A quick wipe for his fingers, the lubricant again for his erection this time; Jonathan was glad to see the moment let Jervis regain a little of himself as he opened his eyes to observe, no obvious change in reaction a good sign in this case as Jonathan shifted his hips down into place on top of Jervis’.

It was Jervis’ legs wrapped around his hips pushing him forward that gave the signal for Jonathan to slide in, surprise overtaking his face at the warm, slick feeling of breaching Jervis by the first couple of inches.

Jervis’ constricted face eventually relaxed, opening his eyes to catch the mild curious surprise Jonathan was still wearing as he looked down at the situation, his next move uncertain. Letting out a breath deliberately, Jervis attempted to relax his body and nudged with his knee for Jonathan to continue all the way in.

Jonathan leant down to kiss him as he did, letting Jervis’ arms settle around his neck and shoulders. His own hands settled one on Jervis’ chest – Shifting from the spot on the front of his shoulder that might feel trapping down to covering his heart this time – and the other on Jervis’ thigh again to squeeze in comfort.

It was there Jervis tried to focus his attention as Jonathan pulled back the first time and an involuntary groan was dragged from Jervis; oh, there was the pleasure!

Jonathan pitched up too much as he went forward again, startling Jervis as he began to be folded in half and Jonathan felt an uncomfortable amount of weight settle on his erection. Muttering a, “Sorry,” he tried that one again at a flatter angle, a ragged gasp escaping as Jervis’ body pulled his cock in again hot and willingly.

An inexperienced rhythm started very slowly, Jonathan’s thrusts gaining in confidence as Jervis’ body beneath him began to move to meet them.

Jervis’ fingers twisted in the back of his hair held Jonathan down into a long kiss, lips sliding on and off each other’s as their rocking hips jerked their bodies in and out of sync, Jonathan’s much longer one bent up over Jervis’ possessively but also in protective caring. Jonathan’s sharp hipbones began to dig deeply into the flesh of Jervis’ thigh as they pushed into them again and again, the rest of their skin between slapping together and slowly slipping slightly with sweat.

Jonathan’s calming grip stayed firm on Jervis’ thigh, even as blunt nails dug deeper into his back. Jervis’ hips began to move less and less in response to the thrusts, his rhythm slowly failing even as Jonathan’s persisted. Though his breathing remained the same, the rest of Jervis’ body began to calm and slacken around Jonathan’s increasingly.

In a moment when their lips slipped apart, “Jonathan... I’m getting over-stimulated,” he gasped quickly, eager to ensure nothing else was wrong. It was just enough for tonight.

Jonathan nodded. “Do you mind if I keep going as I wind down?”

“Certainly. Please,” Jervis nodded as well, calming with a deep sigh as the pace began to lessen already.

He was still by the time Jonathan reached a calm stop as well, eyes closed to focus on the tense energy yearning right beneath every inch of his skin, urging him to pull Jonathan’s body to him and unwisely start again. Jervis breathed steadily instead, remaining where he lay as Jonathan curled up on one side next to him, watching over at the same time he rested. “Do you want me to-?”

“No,” Jonathan quickly cut off, hand already raised to push away Jervis’ from coming over to his body. “It’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Jervis felt the need to say. “I know we said we might not get all the way but I’m sorry if you wanted to finish-”

“It’s fine,” Jonathan assured him gently, eyes closed in rest as well as a hand groped around behind him for where the baby wipes had gotten too. Jervis studied him, watching as he used one of the wipes to clean his still-erect penis. After a few moments of measured breathing, “I’m going to pee.”

Again, Jervis merely watched as Jonathan rose from the bed and left into the en suite. A tissue sufficed to clean himself up, tidying that and the other items on the bed while waiting.

Jonathan was back after a functionally short time. “Did it hurt at all?”

“No, not really.”

“No negative psychological associations created from the experience?”

Jervis smiled, patting for Jonathan to sit closer in bed again. “No, I don’t think so.” He pulled the covers up for both of them, even leaning over to tuck the other side around Jonathan. “Well, perhaps a slight anxiety this is going to happen every time, that I’ll never be able to reach all the way comfortably. I would think repeated exposure would acclimatise my body to the sensations however, yes?”

Jonathan was still staring at the tuck-in as if it were an alien wrapped around him. When he was done blinking at the sheets, “I would expect that to be the case, yes,” he reassured with the words Jervis wanted to hear. “There’s no need to build any form of anxiety, Jervis; it may take multiple attempts but I have no doubt you will be able to get to where you want to with this.”

“What about you?” Jervis fidgeted, desperate to turn out the light, to plunge them into a darkness he could hide in, but, “...That was enough for you, wasn’t it? What do you want, Jonathan?”

“I certainly don’t want you suffering discomfort for the sake of my pleasure,” Jonathan could answer simply. “Otherwise I have little mind; orgasms are not a necessity for me. My libido may be rebellious and strong enough to guide my actions in terms of social interaction but satisfaction comprises any form of sexual interaction. This was sex as far as I’m concerned, whatever anyone else might say.”

Still swirling his fingers around one another, “Thank you.” Jervis dared to look up again at Jonathan laying back nonchalantly about the whole thing. “...’Any form of sexual interaction’?”

Jonathan shrugged. “A kiss is enough, is more than I...”

Jervis leant into view, one eyebrow slightly lifted.

Jonathan stayed quiet.

“Being touched, positive physical contact?”

“The same.”

Jervis snuggled up to Jonathan’s side, giving him a moment to telegraph his intention before closing the gap into actual contact. Fingers brushing through the choppy spike of hair by Jonathan’s temple, “Thank you, Jonathan.”

An uncertain arm finally settled around Jervis’ body, the rest of Jonathan’s soon following to wrap around the smaller one in its embrace. On a very deep level, every muscle relaxed just a little for once in his life. “Thank you, Jervis.”

In the crook of Jonathan’s shoulder, Jervis tilted his head up in query, placing his mouth close enough to Jonathan’s ear to whisper, “There is something wrong, isn’t there, Jonathan?”

“It’s fine,” Jonathan insisted.

“...Okay,” Jervis assured him, snuggling down into the bare skin of Jonathan’s body again and squeezing him tight for a moment.

Jonathan tightened around him, tilting his face into the soft, blond mess of Jervis’ hair to bury it there for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That may not have been all that sexy but it was realistic - I wish I saw more sex which was considered satisfying despite neither party reaching orgasm - and emotionally necessary after a few chapters ago. As you might have guessed we're not quite done yet but we'll get there.
> 
> I actually thought about a _Frasier_ AU for Batman, radio RKHM and all that: Jonathan could be a radio psychologist like Frasier, Jervis could read stories, Edward would do the trivia show, Harvey Dent could do legal advice, Pamela gardening advice and so on... But I have zero time to ever write such a thing so here's a free plot bunny for the taking if anyone wants it.


	12. Tricycle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be called ‘Edward pt. 2 – Return of the Riddler’ so be grateful for small mercies.
> 
> My Edward has quite a different backstory when it comes to his mother than I've seen most people give him. I fully support those other interpretations - The characters being dismissive of such representations isn't an actual criticism of them - but I like to explore him from a slightly different angle than usual.

“This place is beginning to feel like home...” Jervis wearily mentioned, sighing as he leant back against Arkham’s green, half-tiled wall and watched Jonathan sat on the medical table.

“It will.” Jonathan watched the needle plunging into his arm, drawing out a sample of his blood. “Try not to let it bother you.”

“Any injuries or medical conditions we should be aware of?” the doctor asked.

“Sold both my kidneys on the black market, ovarian cysts, touch of bubonic plague,” Jonathan reported straight, not missing a beat.

“Uh-huh. Anything concealed within the cavities on your person?”

“No.”

“Okay, mind if I give you a cavity search now?”

“Are you ever going to stop asking that redundant first question?”

The doctor grabbed Jonathan’s jaw, not needing to force it open now he knew the procedure. “They make me.” Jonathan suffered the flashlight and finger with dignity, grinding his jawbones side-to-side to pass the time. “Okay, other end.”

“Let’s find a new grocery store when we get out,” Jervis piped up from the wall, still shackled and in the looming shadow of the guard beside him, “one that doesn’t supply its cashiers with gas masks.”

Jonathan’s grey inmate trousers and underwear hit the floor as he leant forward braced on the table’s edge. “Agreed.”

A truly awkward moment for four human beings to be in together followed, the doctor inserting a latex gloved finger up Jonathan while said party’s boyfriend watched from across the room and a very uncomfortable guard observed a particularly discoloured crack in the floor tiles, fingers tapping uneasily on the handle of his baton.

Jonathan kept his bored gaze towards the ceiling. After enough of that though he dropped it down to Jervis’ lightly amused smirk. “You have better technique than she does,” He jerked his head back briefly towards the doctor.

Jervis’ smirk broke into a small grin while the doctor rolled her eyes, a smile pulling at her lips despite her best attempts. The guard switched to his own shoes, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Okay, get your trousers back on. You’re done.” The doctor finally pulled back, snapping off her glove into a bin and filling out the paperwork quickly. She tossed that clipboard onto the table, picking up the other identical one beside it. “Jervis.”

“’”Change lobsters,”’” Jervis stepped forward, relinquishing his spot to Jonathan as they traded places. “First name basis now?” he did enquire though.

“Well, it looks like I’m stuck with you now for the foreseeable future,” the doctor answered, looking him over and checking pupil dilation, sense of balance, externals signs of injury, et cetera. “Least you’re pretty cute.”

Jervis turned back in a break while she fetched his syringe, beaming playfully at Jonathan. “She thinks I’m cute.”

“Your competition is Two-Face and Killer Croc,” she returned, grabbing an arm to hold still. “My standards aren’t high after five years here.”

Jervis opted not to watch his own blood sampling, instead turning the other way to observe the guard with his eyes still averted from the whole situation. “...Do you suppose he’s interested in her?” he nodded to the guard, eyes on Jonathan.

“Looks like he’s hopeful,” Jonathan smirked back, enjoying the stammering mess he made of their young overseer.

The doctor pulled the syringe from Jervis rather quickly, “Just for that I’m not warming my finger for you.” Jervis held up his hands in a silent shrug, opening his mouth wide for one inspection before hopping down and turning to drop his trousers ready without even instruction.

He leant forward on the medical table on one elbow for the second part, trying to remain disinterested and managing it past a flash of discomfort when first breached. “...You know, I never had any form of medical procedure that involved anal insertion or my genitals being cupped before I came to this country,” Jervis mentioned when back to bored disinterest. “For a country that fusses so much about its Christian values, you certainly have remarkably gay medical practices.”

Jonathan rewarded him with a genuine, brief grin, before stepping aside as the door beside him opened suddenly. Their own guard startled away in similar surprise as into the medical room was marched- “Good evening, Edward.”

“Oh wonderful,” Jervis commented from the table; “now we can all get cavity searches together.”

Edward’s escorting guard shut the door behind them, more gruffly keeping a warning baton pressed into Edward’s lower back as he did so. “They’ve upped security at the downtown mall,” Edward explained, blinking his somewhat purple eye and spitting out a glob of slightly bloody saliva into a nearby bin.

“What were you doing at the downtown mall?” Jonathan asked.

Edward just sighed. “Wasting a very good riddle set-up, as it turns out. And I didn’t even get a chance to return that pair of jeans.”

“It’s half past midnight,” Jonathan pointed out; “how were you going to return them anyway?”

Edward simply shook his head now, watching as Jervis was given the all-clear to pull up his pants. “My turn next?”

“Your latex glove-covered welcome back to Arkham awaits,” Jonathan gestured him forward with shackled hands while Jervis came back to wait beside him.

Edward limped slightly forward to the table, running through the rigmarole of basic checks and questions while the others waited and watched. The guards got busy debating whether taking all three to their cells at once was going to be too much of a safety concern or not; Jonathan and Jervis watched how Edward winced as he showed the doctor tonight’s bruises and cuts, rubbing a sore side as he tried to look away from his blood sample being taken. “Anything broken?” Jonathan checked.

“Don’t think so,” the doctor judged. “You remember the signs if you did fracture those ribs though?” she checked with Edward, who nodded.

“What are the signs?” Jervis enquired to his partner.

“I’ll tell you later,” Jonathan promised, keeping his slightly brow-furrowed attention on Edward. “It’ll pass the time.”

The doctor asked her questions to preface Edward’s cavity search. He answered with grunted sighs, submitting tiredly to the oral inspection and without fight as he dropped his pants and turned around.

Edward simply stared down at the table, no smart remark or quip.

After an awkward minute his turn was done and the doctor gestured the guards to escort them out to their cells. Edward’s more brutish fellow took him by one shoulder with enthusiasm while the other guard just sort of corralled Jonathan and Jervis in the right direction hopefully, baton warily raised in case of trouble.

Given the little parade line that therefore developed, Jonathan was able to drop back enough to ask over one shoulder, “Are you all right?”

Edward glanced up glassily for a moment, “I’m just tired,” then back to the line in the brick wall he was following without really seeing.

Jonathan watched a moment longer, before Edward’s guard prodded him to keep his eyes forward and feet walking.

Once in C-Wing’s small row of glass-fronted cells, “Okay, here you go,” the younger guard – He wasn’t going to last long – opened the door to one cell, gesturing at both his charges without specificity.

Looking in at two cot beds bolted to the walls, “Both of us?” Jervis asked.

“That’s what Cash said.”

Jervis clapped his hands gleefully, manacles clinking together before he held them out for removal and hurried on in. Jonathan rolled his eyes at the scene far too much like something more appropriate for a honeymoon suite, particularly as Jervis began testing the cot beds for how much bouncing force they could take, but held out his wrists as well before peacefully entering.

While Jervis was asking which cot he wanted and do you suppose they could ask for some lubricant, Jonathan turned around to see Edward being shoved more roughly through the doorway of his designated cell. This converted double one was historically Jonathan’s, directly across from the one Jervis had been given last time with Edward’s to the left of that from their perspective.

As he watched their diagonally opposite friend as the doors were locked and the guards finally left.

“Is the Dormouse quite all right, March Hare?” Jervis joined his side, smaller hands pressed against the Plexiglas cell front in concern. “I know he’s rather prone to sleepiness and so to be tired shouldn’t be unusual but-”

“Edward isn’t just ‘tired’, or not in the conventional sense of the word.” Jonathan walked away from the glass, Edward not even in sight anyway. “He went into autopilot mode, as you might think of it, not long after joining us in the medical room. He’s likely gone into autistic shutdown now.” He watched Jervis continue to peer hopefully across the cell gap even in vain. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s dealing with some form of depression as well, which is why I was concerned.”

Finally admitting defeat, “Edward suffers from depression?” Jervis turned around, hands left on the glass just in case though.

“Edward suffers from a lot of things, although conditions such as depression and anxiety more as side-effects. His brain truly is brilliant, whatever you may think of his compulsive need to prove so; as the classic wisdom about the trade-offs of such intelligence goes, that leaves him far too prone to it causing all manner of problems and unhappiness for him personally.”

Jervis’ large overbite chewed on his bottom lip. “When you said ‘concerned’...” His face took on a worried expression, casting another glance across the cells just in case.

“He’s no danger to himself, Jervis,” Jonathan reassured. “Not in this state at least. This sort of depression will likely simply render him severely withdrawn for a week or so while he recovers; I would imagine he’s been pushing himself too hard, as usual, recently. He slipped up tonight, which will have been the trigger finally. It’s a pattern I’ve seen before, that he can weather safely.”

“Is there anything I can do to help him through?”

“Keep an eye on him. Don’t let others bother him; he’s in no fit state to fight back as is necessary to survive in here. If he’s untalkative chatter on nonetheless about things he likes – I mostly gossip about the other rogues, or trash-talk the GCPD or whatever latest Batman media has come out – to give him something to listen to.”

Jervis nodded along that all seemed sensible advice. After one more moment of hope, he removed his hands and self from the front of their cell to come sit beside Jonathan on one of the cot beds.

Jonathan settled back in proper relaxation now, only the night-lighting akin to moonlight pouring down from on-high out in the corridor illuminating them now. “...His manic episodes are the times to be concerned about Edward doing himself harm,” he mentioned quietly, uneasily. “They’re few and far between, and can seem simply like he’s being more himself than normal with the over-inflated ego, obsessive ideas and emotional outbursts. Edward seems to recognise them as well these days so you shouldn’t be troubled by them, especially not with his medication suppressing them in Arkham; he takes himself away into private now if he can to let them burn themselves out. It seems to work.”

Jervis studied the uncomfortable set of Jonathan’s shoulders, the distance of his gaze. “...What about when it didn’t?”

“Just moderate self-harm, so far as I know,” Jonathan answered, gaze dropping. “Nothing more than you and I have done.” He lay down without waiting for a reply.

Jervis sat in the way of him entirely pulling up the covers though, simply staring down at Jonathan’s back to him. “When have you self-harmed, Jonathan?”

“Just when I’ve needed to put myself into shock,” Jonathan answered far too pragmatically.

Rubbing one hand up his arm, hugging himself across the chest in the end, Jervis nodded and toed off his shoes to lie down as well, face to Jonathan’s back. After a moment, he dared to shuffle forward and slip his higher arm over Jonathan protectively, tucking his face into the back of Jonathan’s neck. The tiny multitude of old, star-shaped scars were far too visible there, a faded white under the fingertips of Jervis’ other hand that came up to trace them. “...You’ve already been hurt far too many times, Jonathan. Please don’t add to it yourself again.”

The kiss he laid on the pale, scarred skin caused Jonathan to stiffen discomfortably for a moment, a defensive tightness preparing itself before Jonathan allowed himself to relax for once, even gifting himself a small smile at the amusing feeling of Jervis trying to be the big spoon tonight.

~#~

Jervis settled back into Arkham’s routine far too comfortably for his liking. The more experienced, battle-worn veteran Jonathan barely seemed to change.

Edward though...

Well, for those first few days Jervis simply followed Jonathan’s lead and sat quietly by them, keeping up conversation or chess games with Jonathan when Edward dropped into unresponsive silence to provide entertainment. It was working as stabilisation even if not improvement, or according to Jonathan at least.

Edward remained sullen, withdrawn, but a melancholic kind Jervis was familiar with from mirrors. The brilliant mind was still there, giving them both a good go on the chessboard when he could actual be drawn into playing or turning over new riddles under his breath at lunch perfecting the wording, “So that ridiculously fluke-reliant Batman can stand at least some chance of solving them.” He was by no means doing well, anywhere near the vibrant-to-the-point-of-annoying normal Edward, but he was getting by; Jervis knew that feeling too well also.

He knew the distraction and clumsiness it could lead to as well, sharing a sympathetic and well-meaning grimace behind Edward when he knocked into another inmate turning to exit the lunch queue and all three watched that poor pot of pudding tumble from the other inmate’s tray, plunking on the floor and miserably leaking its chocolate blood over the tiles. “Sorry,” Edward muttered before looking up at the inmate’s face.

Both of them.

“H-Harvey?” Edward stammered. “When did you-?”

“Last night,” Two-Face growled, lips twisting and drawing clear attention to the large bruise covering much of the better half of his face. “And now, already, you seem like you want to test my patience, Riddler.”

Wordless, eyes pressing closed in a desperate attempt to think – Or maybe dream himself away from this situation – Edward looked to the fallen pudding desperate for the lost cause to undergo a phoenix-like resurrection to save him from-

“’”But it goes on, ‘They all returned from him to you,’” said Alice,” Jervis stepped forward, transferring his own pudding onto Two-Face’s tray. He also went for a less-than-successful tip of his hat, being sans millinery at the moment, before tugging on Edward’s elbow to move along with him. “’And he got up very sulkily and crossed over to the other side of the court-’”

“Hatter.”

Jervis froze, daring to look back unafraid. “’”First boy”’?”

Two-Face was looking down at him, face still twisted in what looked like displeasure – Although to what extent that was voluntarily expression and to what extent disfigurement and current injury was hard to say – but he took his time before saying, “Twinhill street, the apartment near Wayne Tech.”

“Oh, you _do_ remember me!” Jervis turned back gladly now. “Yes, we were neighbours, of a sort, there.”

“Until someone ratted my place there out to the cops.” Two-Face stepped forward, tall enough he could have rested his lunch tray on Jervis’ head easily, or alternatively placed Jervis’ head on his lunch tray.

Opening his blue eyes in innocence, “Are you accusing me?”

“Maybe. Someone had to have done it.”

Jervis squared up the best he could, utterly cool and confident even if not that impressive for it. “’”I didn’t write it, and they can’t prove I did: there’s no name signed at the end.”’”

Two-Face scowled harder. “What?”

“I’m not so much of a coward that I’d have run scared to the police,” Jervis stepped forward, “and I might resent such an insinuation about my character if I feel inclined to; I haven’t quite made up my mind yet.”

After a moment holding eye contact, hard as Jervis’ autism made it for him, Two-Face pulled out his coin. “Prove it.”

“Go on,” Jervis nodded without hesitation.

The coin pinged into the air, spinning fast before landing back in that hand of Two-Face’s and being flipped out onto his lunch tray. “...Guess I was wrong,” he said, walking away with a respectful nod.

Jervis, too short to have seen what result landed on the tray, shrugged and walked back to Edward ignoring the silent bewilderment the altercation had inflicted on every non-psychotic inmate within hearing distance.

“Not bad,” Jonathan caught up to them both finally, the group heading to a free corner. “I think you might well be earning a little reputation in here already.”

“Do you think he was scared of me?” Jervis eagerly asked, shuffling up close to Jonathan’s side.

Jonathan snorted lightly. “Harvey? Certainly not. You simply have good luck.” Jervis deflated slightly, but understood. “Some of the lesser inmates however, perhaps. Especially now they’ve seen you successfully see off Two-Face.”

“That and the prodigious company I keep,” Jervis delighted cheerfully, setting his tray down and taking his seat beside Jonathan across from Edward at their table – ‘Their’ more meaning the Scarecrow’s, and to a lesser extent the Riddler’s – and watching Jonathan fondly roll his eyes before digging into the bean salad.

Edward didn’t raise even a smile, merely poked his fork down into his food without the tines picking up anything.

Slightly disheartened for the sake of his friend, “...Was that a 3DS I saw on the sofa arm at your place, Edward? I managed to salvage mine despite,” Jervis gestured around at Arkham in general. “Typical that by the time the new _Kingdom Hearts_ game finally comes out I’m stuck in here.”

“You like-? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you like _Kingdom Hearts_ what with the _Alice_ world in the first.” Edward perked up slightly. “Why didn’t you just order a new one from Amazon?”

“Postbox issues,” Jonathan announced, tearing apart his bread roll without further explanation. “Need a new one without fingers in it.”

“Well, I haven’t had the time to finish it just yet,” Edward continued. “I suppose I could let you borrow it after that... Do you have the _Ocarina of Time_ remake? I didn’t think I’d ever admit it but I think it’s better than the original.”

“I wouldn’t know, sadly; I wasn’t allowed more than handhelds until I got out from home and went to university. I played so much of those old _Oracle_ games though.”

“Those old Game Boy Colour ones?” Edward actually smiled somewhat. “I never got a chance to play them.”

“My personal favourite. But your firsts always are.” Jervis checked how well Jonathan was following the conversation, which was absolutely not at all. “Taking pity on our beloved luddite,” he didn’t intend to say aloud, but got away with alive regardless, “how about a different first to pass the time with? What about... first crush?”

“Crush?” Edward repeated, amused but slightly incredulous.

“What is this? A sleepover for teenage girls?” Jonathan felt it was someone’s duty to say.

Jervis fixed him with a good stare. “...That sounds like the defence of someone who has something to hide.”

“I agree,” Edward joined in, back to the smallest version of his shit-eating grin.

Jonathan merely rolled his eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t remember such a juvenile thing.”

“Oh come now,” Jervis objected. “Who doesn’t remember that first kindling of adolescent awakening? Surely even you lay awake some lonely, longing night dreaming of the first time you would get to-”

“If I answer the question will you desist with such ridiculousness?” Jonathan cut in, and Jervis ceded the floor. With a heavy sigh, and two fingers to one temple as he tried to remember, “...Mr. Percival, my middle school Math teacher,” he finally answered. “He paid attention to me- Not of an inappropriate sort,” Jonathan pre-empted. “His encouragement of my potential in Math led me into studying the sciences and he gave me odd jobs around his garden over summer for petty cash, the only money I had to call my own back then.”

The other two turned to one another, deciding, “Well, that’s boring,” Edward dismissed.

“What?” Jonathan asked.

“Someone we knew would have been more interesting, some celebrity for instance like a normal person,” Jervis explained.

“I had no TV, movies or even books half the time. Who was I meant to become hopelessly infatuated with?”

Both shaking their head, “And you?” Jervis turned the question on Edward.

Though with slight embarrassment, “...Ed Robertson of the Barenaked Ladies. They’re a band,” he needed to explain to both blank stares he got. “’One Week’? _Stunt_? Top of the charts summer of ’98?” The blank stares continued. “Well, he’s a brilliantly clever songwriter and a complete gaming and pinball nerd; I thought he was the epitome of cool as a teenager.”

Jervis allowed a little of his amusement out into a polite enough grin. “And now?”

Edward shrugged. “Still my favourite band; I still go to their concerts all the time, even know the band quite well – We both knew each other before we were famous, or they were famous down here at least; they very much enjoy having such a famous fan as myself – I still like Ed, although I think middle age is going to take its toll soon. He’s starting to grey.” While the other two prepared to mock such shallow dedication to his lifelong hero, “Okay then. Jervis?”

Jervis clammed up, considering for a moment and then simply admitting a rather awkward, “A-Ahh... I don’t believe I thought this topic through...” He twiddled his fingers around one another, wishing for his gloves; even his hands felt as if they were blushing right now.

“Come on,” of all of them Jonathan egged on, leaning in with fascination both psychological and personal.

Jervis groaned.

“Setting aside the too-obvious Alice, Lewis Carroll?” Edward took a guess.

“N-No!” Jervis objected hastily. “I-I mean, yes, if you must know. I couldn’t quite say when that started though, certainly before my adolescence. And that’s rather more complicated and innocent than...”

“Who did the Mad Hatter have his first wet dreams about?” Edward kept up the pressure, all their lunches forgotten for this much more nourishing discussion.

“I didn’t have wet-” Jervis huffed earnestly. But conceding to his fate, “...Paul Reubens.”

Edward did a good job suppressing his amusement. “Pee-wee Herman?”

“Well... yes. Technically more the character than the actor-”

This time Edward utterly failed at holding in his laughter. “ _Pee-wee Herman_?!”

Jervis sighed, running a hand down his face and returning to his lunch. “I liked his _Playhouse_ show; it had a very Wonderland-like vibe,” he defended. “He’s positive-thinking, funny, stylish-”

“Stylish?!” Edward snickered. “Oh God, please don’t tell me that’s why you wear a bowtie as part of your costume!”

Jervis continued eating quietly, giving the requested silence.

“Well, considering how light he is in those loafers you’d probably be in luck.” Edward finally turned to Jonathan, as equally quiet about the whole thing. “Aren’t you embarrassed to be considered in the same league as Pee-wee Herman?”

“I have no idea to whom the two of you are referring,” Jonathan stated plainly.

“Seriously?” Jonathan’s shoulders set defensively. “Oh, I suppose not, Mr. No-TV-or-movies.” Edward tutted, reaching down to his- “Damn. I don’t have my phone here.” He began looking around the cafeteria. “Maybe I can get Cash to show us on his phone...”

“You truly believe someone who works here could afford a smartphone?” Jonathan asked. “Or someone who abides by the rules like Cash at least?”

Edward gestured with his fork, accepting that before actually beginning to eat with enthusiasm for the first time in days. “Pee-wee Herman, honestly...”

Jervis rolled his eyes but settled them above a smile as he watched Edward across from him.

Especially when a cup of chocolate pudding was offered across to him at the end of the meal, admittedly with one mouthful taken and the spoon placed back in pointed towards him but, “You’re willing to kiss Jonathan and I’m _far_ more hygienic than he is,” a kind gesture of friendship nonetheless.

~#~

A few days later, a week from entry, yard privileges were returned – An announcement that roused a very mild, “Woo...” of excitement just short of sarcasm – and Jervis stepped out behind Jonathan into actual sunshine beating down on concrete baked near white over the years. “Typical that the only time it’s ever sunny in Gotham is when it’s unbearably hot...”

“Edward wants us,” Jonathan nodded ahead to their eagerly waving friend stood beside Cash by one of the walls.

Approaching the other pair, “Man, this has gotta be the weirdest smuggling request I’ve ever received here...” Cash reached into his pocket, pulling out a single, folded sheet of paper. “So, what exactly am I doing with this photo of Pee-wee Herman?”

Edward leapt on Jervis, covering his mouth and restraining his arms in preparation. “Just show it to Jonathan. His completely cultureless upbringing needs to be remedied so we can have a proper discussion about this.”

Cash raised an eyebrow, holding out the open sheet as instructed.

Jonathan leaned in to peer, while Jervis continued to try and struggle up a little storm in Edward’s arms, before eventually leaning back satisfied. “I recognise him now. Jervis has a shoe box full of pictures of him, or that actor at least, among his belongings.”

“Oh, really?” Edward joined in joyfully, switching to merely hugging Jervis from behind around the shoulders.

“They looked well-loved, if you know what I mean,” Jonathan reported with a quirked eyebrow and smirk.

“No, I don’t know what you-!” Jervis objected, huffing hard. “You’re making entirely too much of this, Dormouse. I think I preferred it when you were sleeping...”

“And I suppose you have a better source of amusement in here than ridiculing your ridiculous adolescent crush?” Edward retorted to that.

Cash, “You know,” gladly folding up the page to put back in his pocket, “sometimes I think the docs have it all wrong keeping you lot in here.” He paused to give all three a good look, “Days like this I don’t,” before walking back off to stand by the relatively superior sanity of the wall.

“...I think he just implied we were mad,” Jonathan remarked, getting the closest to camp indignation he ever could.

“That’s the last time I ask him a favour,” Edward agreed, tutting.

“ _Good_ ,” Jervis added to that, pulling free from Edward’s arms finally to strut off across the concrete with a degree of petulance. “Honestly... Are we done discussing this topic yet?”

Edward chuckled, following close behind. “I suppose. It just...” He shrugged both arms. “It cheered me up; I didn’t know how to thank you for that.”

“Did you ever perhaps consider not teasing me about it?” Jervis asked, although with no true malice. Once sufficiently out in the yard, although still on concrete thanks to Pamela and what she could do if even one weed found its way through, he let out a heavy groan and dropped to seated before flopping back with his tummy to the sun and arms raised behind his head. “I don’t really mind, Edward; I am glad to know it helped your mood. Depression is no fun, and always a shame to see on someone as vibrant as you are.” He threw one forearm over his face, shading his eyes from the sun beating down hard.

Jonathan joined his partner on the concrete floor, a socially polite but close distance between them as they lay side-by-side in the sunshine. With Jonathan’s arms crossed underneath his head and Jervis’ spare elbow cushioning his head, both relaxed even in a place like this with the reassuring presence of each other right beside them.

Edward stood, looking down on the couple at such peace together. He rocked almost imperceptibly, perhaps just wavering in the heat, but made no move. He just watched them from his short distance away alone.

The other inmates who had yard privileges were all a respectful distance away from the C-Wing rogues, mainly choosing to loiter in what shade they could find.

Jervis startled and Jonathan tensed up on instinct as a new body joined them, Edward making himself comfortable between them even as elbows jabbed into waists and faces. “What in th’ hell are ya-?”

Beaming both at Jonathan’s slip of an accent and just in general, “Well, the Dormouse is in the middle of the tea party between the Hatter and March Hare, right?” Edward looked at both of them in turn cheerfully.

“They also shove him in a teapot at the end,” Jervis mentioned, giving an extra hard tug and finally reclaiming his left arm from where Edward had laid down on it. “What are you-?”

“I haven’t said how much I appreciate you caring about me,” Edward rushed out, practically mumbling into his own chest as his hands came up to fidget very uneasily. “Both of you... I...”

Exhaling any frustration, Jervis softened hearing that. Jonathan appeared unfazed, still taking the whole thing in stride as simply Edward’s normal behaviour. “Thank you,” Jonathan acknowledged. “I can imagine the adjustment from having my sole attention in here to seeing it predominately focused on Jervis must have been difficult for you; I hadn’t realised that.”

“I don’t need your attention; I’m fine,” Edward insisted. “If anything, considering your attention more often consisted of needling me about my phobias and supposed mental health problems, sometimes with actual needles you stole from the doctors, I’m glad not to have it anymore.” Jonathan smiled off-puttingly at the good memories. “I’m perfectly fine all by myself, thank you. I always have been. For a mind as brilliant as mine, relying on others is both unnecessary and more than often a hindrance to me.”

Propped up on both elbows, Jervis observed the other two closely for clues: Edward had on his usual haughty expression that could be either defence, he thought, or just his normal, everyday egotism at work while Jonathan continued to smile at the peacock-like display, showing no concern at least. Quelling what worries he had therefore, “I always did want to ask, whatever happened to your two young assistants, Query and Echo? Are they not working for you anymore?” Jervis asked.

“You better not be intending to make us their replacements with this outlandish act of physical intimacy,” Jonathan said of the group hug pile they were practically in.

“For the record,” Edward pointed a demonstrative and stern finger at Jervis, “they were my partners, not my assistants, and barely younger than I am, thank you.” Jervis made a dry gesture it was much of a muchness. “And you should be honoured at the prospect I would ever consider making the two of you my partners,” he retorted to Jonathan, who merely flopped back on the floor in dismissal of that idea. “Nina and Deirdre moved to Metropolis by mutual agreement a couple of years ago,” Edward finally explained. “They were ready to fly the nest, as it were, start pursuing their own interests properly.”

“Do you miss them?” Jervis asked, turning over to lean on his elbows in a way that would have had Jonathan muttering about ‘sleepovers for teenage girls’ again if he had been paying any attention.

“We were partners. We worked well together. We had fun hanging out together in our off-time. It’s not as if we were particularly attached though, and we keep in touch.”

“Not particularly attached,” Jonathan repeated, eyes still closed as he lay as still as death on the ground. “No, I don’t suppose you would be if you sent them away before that could happen.” Edward’s face transformed into a dark disbelief. “No wonder also your bed partner of choice is Selina, equal queen of keeping things casual.”

Before Jervis could get out his queries about Edward and Selina, “Jonathan,” Edward started very slowly, deliberate and almost menacing, “just what _exactly_ are you-?”

Jonathan’s hand had Edward quiet and pinned down by the neck in less than a blink, leaning in with far greater menace to tell him, “What are your intentions joining with us like this, Edward? Are you going to pull away again when we start getting too close, start meaning too much to you, because you’ll be too afraid of losing us?” Edward gasped, attempting to spit back a retort- “Jervis also had a loving parent who was just as dear to him that he lost; I am not letting you put him through that just because of what happened to your mother. You are not the only one with emotional issues that need to be considered here.”

Edward fell into a cold, flushed silence even as Jonathan’s hand let his throat go. His eyes flicked to Jervis for just a moment from pure curiosity before they had to look away, staring down into the dirt beside him.

“As much as you are welcome to be our friend, you are in or you’re out of our relationship if that’s what all this is; decide which you want,” Jonathan said definitively, laying down again without further room for discussion.

Edward stared across the small space between them, at the side of Jonathan’s head and the resting, serious expression on his face. He then turned back to the sky, folding his arms on his chest and biting at his lower lip so hard it turned to a dark pink.

Left where he had been all this time propped up on his elbows just watching Jervis struggled wordlessly for a moment, running one hand back through his blond hair before settling it where he could continue to watch Edward with concern. “...My father left when I was 12,” he started. “I’m not terribly comfortable going into why. He’s the one I get my Anglo-Romani heritage from, his side of the family.”

“I saw your middle name and I assumed it was...” Edward gestured awkwardly at Jervis’ light brown skin. “No wonder I couldn’t find it on the internet in that case.”

“You have a middle name?” Jonathan spoke up without otherwise moving or opening his eyes.

“What did you do? Put it into Google Translate?” Jervis had to ask. “And as for you,” He reached across and thumped Jonathan for being so inattentive a boyfriend. “My middle name is ‘Kamruzher’; it means ‘sunflower’ in Rommanis. My father made it up for me.”

“You even have a language?” Edward asked, perking up with a genuine interest that was cute indeed.

“Yes, same grammar and morphology as English. I’ve been trying to teach Jonathan some as a secret language we can use when needs be.” His legs kicked side-to-side, crossing and uncrossing at the ankle thoughtfully. “Would you like to learn some as well? Can I trust you with it?”

Edward scoffed, not even deigning to answer that. “...What would my name be in it?” he checked first.

“Edward?”

“No, the Riddler.” Since he obviously needed to explain his brilliance, “If there’s going to be three of us using it we’ll need to be able to specify each other by name. What’s ‘riddle’?”

Passing the time with a rolling of his eyes, “Well, I don’t think we have a word for ‘riddle’ or ‘puzzle’, not that I can remember right now. Mm... ‘Hookabenmengro’? It would translate to something like ‘trickster’.”

Edward pouted, considering that. “What would Jonathan be?”

“A scarecrow? There’s no exact word for that but,” Jervis considered, “...’Chiriclo-bengi’; ‘bird-demon’.”

“...I like that,” Jonathan decided, a very pleased smile on his face.

“And you?” Edward asked.

“’Divio Stadeemengro’.”

“What does that mean? ‘Crazy Hat Guy’?”

“Actually ‘Mad Hatter’ quite accurately,” Jervis answered. “Gladly not ‘Crazy Hat Guy’.”

Jonathan let out a small noise of amusement. “’Crazy Hat Guy’ – I think I prefer that actually.”

“I’m starting a petition to rename Jervis’ persona,” Edward announced, joining in. “I’m going to hack into the GCPD files once I’m out and make the necessary changes to get the ball rolling.”

“If you can hack into them do something useful and delete them!” Jervis objected before huffing, sulking as he listened to the other two repeating his ‘new name’ back and forth to amuse themselves. Well, once again, so long as it made them happy...

~#~

“In and out of Arkham three times in nearly as many months,” Jonathan began, practically throwing himself down into one of the kitchen chairs of the downtown hideout he’d led them all to; “I’m not sure if Jervis is good for maintaining my freedom or not.”

“At least I can keep you entertained when we’re inside together,” Jervis said, attending to his natural instincts by starting on a pot of tea and something to eat before putting the freshly stolen groceries away.

“Do you two have sex that much outside Arkham as well?” Edward asked, more properly seating himself opposite Jonathan to await service. “I could barely look over without you two being up to something...”

“Jealous?” Jonathan simply asked.

Eyeing him up, Edward decided to lean forward with both elbows on the kitchen table earnestly towards him. “...Could I have a threesome with the two of you?” he floated, making sure there was no pressure in the enquiry.

Jonathan looked on for a moment before turning to Jervis. “We never discussed the matter of additional partners and such.”

“I have no objections to the idea,” Jervis said on his part, scratching at one temple with a degree of awkwardness about the pure subject though. “I wouldn’t even object were you to want what I believe is termed an ‘open relationship’, Jonathan, if you wanted to consort with other people so long as it was a mutual, beforehand agreement between us.”

“You broke up the engagement and even tried to murder both participants thereof the last person you had feelings for, Jervis.”

Jervis rolled his eyes and lifted his hands if they _really_ had to bring _that_ up again. “And I have learnt from my mistake; I won’t leave any witnesses next time.”

“I suppose I have no objections either,” Jonathan returned to Edward’s subject. “But I also have no particular inclinations.” He glanced that the absence of meant the same from Jervis. “Why?”

“Why?” Edward echoed.

“Why would we want to have a threesome with you? What benefits or pleasures does it provide to overcome the fact we are perfectly satisfied just as a couple.”

“Well, I hope I don’t even have to point out the fact it means you would get to have sex with me,” Edward splayed a camp hand against his chest, leading to one of the greatest eye-rollings of Jonathan’s life. “I’ve seen your partner checking me out,” he retorted to that, glancing to Jervis who was already blushing from Jonathan’s last statement alone. “I have far more experience than the both of you, and you can’t tell me the two of you aren’t kinky; Jonathan likes to repurpose that noose of his maybe? Jervis is into some sort of bestiality roleplay with his March Hare-?”

“Setting aside the parts of that fuelled by the fact you’re so full of yourself that it’s coming all the way up and out of your mouth,” Jonathan cut in, “I will concede you have more sexual experience and answer yes, although not to the supplementary parts.” After giving Edward a moment to smug it up, “It is not as if we are incapable of gaining further experience ourselves however; we find looking up kink advice and safety guidelines online together in bed very good foreplay.”

Edward looked between them both, Jervis sheepishly turning away to attend to the tea, and sighed. “Wow. You are even worse absolute nerds than I thought.” Jonathan gave him a piercing kettle-pot scowl. “Just for fun then; we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I suppose given Jonathan’s and my own limited experience with friends growing up we wouldn’t know if such practice were common between friends,” Jervis mentioned, bringing the tea and a plate of biscuits to the table, “although from hearsay and media I’m quite certain it isn’t.”

Edward picked up one of the long, chocolate fingers to bite on, letting it hang from his mouth temptingly as he looked up at Jervis.

Observing the exchange as Jervis sat primly flustered in the seat beside Edward to begin pouring out the tea, “I have no strong inclinations either way,” Jonathan said, earning some affront for Edward he was that trivial; “I’ll leave the decision to you, Jervis. Were you checking Edward out, or was that simply his ego again?” This time Edward actively scowled at him, biting through the biscuit in his mouth.

“My demisexual nature tends to manifest attraction to anyone I begin considering a friend I’m afraid; it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, and certainly not that I wish to act on it,” Jervis answered. “But the Dormouse will have to stay here until tomorrow morning to avoid being collared and suppressed by the guards anyway I suppose. I never really considered myself to be the sort who would be interested in casual sex, but being so many different sizes in a day gives one new perspective on themself I suppose. There’s no reason to relegate Edward to the sofa tonight; I think I’d like to have him in our bed, if you don’t mind.”

Jonathan nodded to that. Then he turned to fix Edward quite sternly across the table. “You may have more experience but you will respect our lack of experience and our boundaries. I won’t have you getting carried away and making either of us uncomfortable in your pursuit of pleasure.”

“I’m not like that in bed,” Edward muttered somewhat, his genuinely offended tone. “And it’s not as if I don’t have my own boundaries I’ll be expecting you to respect too,” he added, dropping the end of the biscuit he had held onto his saucer to dispose of to satisfy his need for hygiene until he had washed his hands.

“My apologies. I assumed such quirks disappeared with experience,” Jonathan admitted.

“Some do, maybe.” Edward shrugged. “Some just get reinforced. So,” he changed track cheerfully, “what are we to do until then, my friends?”

~#~

Jervis stirred nervously awake to an unusual amount of movement in the bed beside him. Jonathan twitching around in his sleep or sitting up reading because of insomnia were common, but this was not that.

He was facing away from where he figured out the movement was behind him. If he turned over though he might alert the movement though, and since instinct could tell him it wasn’t Jonathan-

“Ow! Why must you insist on biting so much?”

Oh right; as guest of honour Edward had slept in the middle of their bed last night. Jervis turned his head underneath himself, now face-down but angled able to see the other two up to whatever it was they were doing – Really, even after four months he would still struggle to tell you if Jonathan and Edward were friends or not.

Jonathan had Edward pinned beneath him, face buried into the side of Edward’s neck with all the tenacity of a vampiric leech while his prey whined and struggled only as a matter of principle.

Edward’s head, in the course of rolling back and around on the pillow, soon noticed, “Look, Jervis is awake now; go bite him instead you orally-fixated sadist.”

“My teeth are barely grazing you,” Jonathan quibbled, pulling back to lean on one elbow. “And that better not have been a deliberate Freud reference.”

Jervis sighed, leaning over and brushing Edward’s mussed hair back gently from above his ‘What are you going to do about it if it was?’ expression. “Starting without me, hm? What would the Queen say if she knew?” He moved onto trying to smooth down Jonathan’s absolutely god-awful bedhead, scooching closer to them both.

“I told Jonathan and his insomniac ways not to let those appalling sedatives they put me on at Arkham keep me asleep too long.” Edward’s arm snaked underneath him, pulling Jervis into their two bodies. The same pale skin, scrappy sinew-based muscles, Edward’s collarbones nearly as obviously prominent as Jonathan’s – It was a good thing they had different hair colours to tell them apart really.

Jonathan’s arm also tucked around Jervis, moving over to be practically lying on top of both of them. The weight forced a slight exhale out of Jervis as he was pinned down gladly, looking over to Edward still fussing about the whole thing.

“Is he always like this?” Edward asked, attempting to sit up, not that their possessive protector was having any of that. “You have intimacy issues, Jonathan. And no doubt you like the idea of someone being so clingy so only encourage him,” he also levelled at Jervis.

“He’s simply showing affection in the way that’s most comfortable for him,” Jervis defended.

“In a way that should be creepy to anyone with a sensible level of fear left? Yes, I suppose that probably is most comfortable for him.” Finally pulling free, Edward headed to the bathroom.

The other two watched from the bed, Jonathan’s arm settling on the warmth Edward’s body had left behind. “He seemed partial to cuddling afterwards last night,” the scientist in Jonathan observed.

“Are we really that unpleasant to wake up to as bedfellows?” Jervis agreed more lightly, suggesting, “Maybe he just needed to use the facilities.”

Jonathan further studied the space left behind though, even slipping down into it. Jervis propped himself up behind his partner, hand stroking soothingly through Jonathan’s hair again even its neatness was a lost cause. “...He never stays. Or not according to Selina at least,” Jonathan mentioned, a degree of uncertain and respectful quiet to his voice. “He sent away Nina and Deirdre, the only people he’s ever let live with him long-term.”

“Are you worried about him?”

Jonathan stared at the door a moment longer then turned, face mostly tucked into his folded arms. “Oswald was the first friend I ever made here, my first true friend really. But he was always sent to Blackgate; it was Edward I went through all these years at Arkham with, who’s stopped counting favours we owe each other even in this line of work, who was only one able to keep up in nearly all conversation with me until you came along. I’m always worried about Edward,” he finally answered.

Jervis leant over, pressing a kiss to Jonathan’s forehead. “Want me to card him so we can settle this matter before the Dormouse falls asleep again?”

“Are you jealous?” Jonathan ignored the joking threat.

“That you have friends? No, I’m very pleased. Although I find it somewhat unfair you made so many friends as a criminal while I suffered with none; I should have come over to the dark side long ago,” Jervis huffed playfully, also pushing himself up at the sound of the toilet flushing. “You said some months ago, when we first discussed how we felt about each, that you understood Edward but didn’t care about him; has that changed now?”

“...Yes,” Jonathan considered; “since you I’ve come appreciate how much his friendship means to me, I believe. Although presently I can’t speculate on a psychological reason why.”

“I must just be magical like that,” Jervis hummed, walking towards the bathroom now Edward was leaving.

“You do look like a leprechaun,” Edward tossed out casually as they passed, followed by a quick, “Ow!” as Jervis dug pointed fingers into a bruise on Edward’s side he’d discovered during their intimate acquaintance last night. “He’s getting vicious.”

“I know; isn’t it wonderful?” Jonathan glibly replied, sitting up finally. “Are you staying for breakfast?”

Picking up his phone from the bedside table, Edward made a show of considering the time and supposed, “Since it’ll take up some time until it won’t be suspicious for someone to be out walking on the streets, yes.”

“Good.” Jonathan pushed his shoulder, also currently injured with a small graze, in the direction of the other door. “Go get cooking.”

Despite an indignant splutter, “Fine! But only because Jervis will make us have a tea party and you’re utterly abominable at it!”

A good ten minutes later the two joined Edward again in the kitchen, receiving tuts and mutterings it was their fault their cinnamon toast was now cool and he was taking the warm, new slice.

Slipping their plates under the grill on the way past to make tea, “Enjoying yourself with that, Dormouse?” Jervis asked of the banana hanging, still only half-peeled, from Edward’s mouth as he chopped up another.

Removing it briefly, “How do you think I overcame my gag reflex? You were the one enjoying that last night,” Edward slid the pile of chopped bananas into two bowls, sliding them onto the table before taking another and his toast to come eat.

“Did you only insist on giving us both oral last night to prove you possess yet another obscurely useful, parlour trick skill?” Jonathan asked, smirking as he was kicked under the table.

“I might have to learn that one...” Jervis mumbled to himself, crunching into his toast and placing Jonathan’s before him.

“Why did you bother learning it anyway?” Jonathan asked. “I wasn’t aware you had any male sexual partners, not that it comes as a surprise sexuality-wise.”

“The pool of ‘male sexual partners’, as you put so delightfully clinically, is abysmal compared to the female one is the only reason for that; there’s simply no one up to my standard,” Edward said, popping the rest of his banana from its peel into the bowl. “Who was I meant to sleep with? The Joker? Harvey? Arnold Wesker?”

Jonathan considered the fair point. “Oswald’s attractive and pleasant, or at least as much as the two of us are.”

Edward shrugged awkwardly. “Things are... Our friendship is complicated. And I don’t think he’s the type for casual sex between friends.”

“This was simply casual sex between friends again, correct?” Jonathan checked.

“Oh? Were you hoping for more? And right in front of your boyfriend, Jonathan,” Edward teased.

“After your more affectionate behaviour towards the both of us as of lately we had considered that perhaps you wanted to join our relationship.”

Despite an uncomfortable, very hesitant pause at first, “Well, in that case I’m sorry to disappoint if the two of you were counting on me to inject some new energy into your relationship – I can’t believe it’s lost its passion already – but that isn’t what I want. I’m happy to come by if you need a threesome now and then to keep things exciting-”

“There’s nothing wrong with our relationship,” Jervis finally spoke up. “You simply seemed... lonesome because of it, Edward, as if you were uncomfortable being a third wheel to us now.”

Edward snorted lightly, a segment of strawberry held up with cavalier nonchalance on his fork as he leant on his other arm. “What’s so bad about being a ‘third wheel’ anyway? A bike falls over by itself on two but tricycles are always stable. Having a third wheel can be a good thing.”

“But doesn’t that third wheel at the front seem rather lonely?” Jervis said. “The other two are moving side-by-side, linked together, but that one at the front would always be having to look over its shoulder to see its friends- All right, I’m taking this metaphor rather too far,” he admitted, giving Edward opportunity to laugh across the table from them. “If you’re fine as you then pay it no mind. You’re obviously a loner, a rebel.” He smirked.

Edward gaped, reaching the point of true disbelief. “Oh, I’m meant to drop it but it’s fine for you to joke about?” Jonathan looked between them utterly lost, but before he could ask, “I like my own space and freedom, the fun bachelor criminal life; I’m content as I am, yes. I do value and enjoy our friendship but that’s all it is. I’ll be back with my games from my days as a game designer for you to play, to see if even someone as smart as you stands a chance of beating them,” he pointed to Jervis, “and I’m taking you shopping soon; Jervis agreed behind your back so it’s 2-1 and official now: Your wardrobe is atrocious,” he told Jonathan. “And with that,” Edward crammed the last of his cinnamon toast into his mouth and gracefully left his plates at the sink before heading to the door.

The whole thing was rather spoilt by him coughing out a slightly reddy-brown splutter on the way- “You forced too much toast into your mouth so you could make a dramatic exit, didn’t you?” Jonathan asked knowingly, receiving a middle finger over Edward’s shoulder in return before he exited into the front hall. He simply sighed, taking a far more sensible bite of his own remaining toast.

Jervis leant over, looking out into the empty shadows of the hallway after Edward and the sound of their front door opening. “...Did I say the wrong thing? ‘”You’re a very poor speaker,” said the King.’ Only it seemed as if-”

“Edward deliberately changed the subject and ended the conversation there?” Jonathan guessed. “Yes. Edward won’t admit any of his psychological problems to anyone, for all I know he is painfully aware of them. I did hope the shift in his behaviour towards us might be a signal of an increasing willingness to discuss them with us at least, hence my attempts to initially broach the subject, but it appears not. Your line of questioning brought him too close to one of his deepest problems and fears, thus he took the first chance that presented itself to him to escape.”

“What problem?” Jervis asked. “I wouldn’t want to- I didn’t know that I was...”

Jonathan fiddled with the crust of his toast, considering for a moment before revealing to Jervis, “I mentioned Edward’s mother in passing at Arkham, correct?” Jervis nodded. “While everyone knows about Edward’s father thanks to Arkham’s less than exemplary adherence to their confidentiality clause, Edward never talks about his mother. Not to anyone outside of his friends at least. The lack of information has led to people filling in the blank as they please or leaving it such when it comes to media representations and so forth, most often that she was indifferent to him or part of the problem for never dealing with his father. In reality she was utterly devoted to him, nothing but loving and supportive. But she was also abused by Edward’s father – I speculate the abuse Edward received may have been merely a way to further abuse her through harming the child she loved so much, rather than because of Edward himself – and unable to escape or stop him. You may say such a situation is ridiculous, that of course she would have escaped if she had really loved Edward to take him away from such a thing. But she did try in the end, and Edward’s father killed her for it. Edward knows that, that she died because of her desire to protect him; he blames himself for her death, I think. It also explains why he never escaped himself until his late teens, knowing that it was a very real possibility he would also be killed for it.”

Jervis stared down into his remaining breakfast, toast now cool again and fruit only half-finished. He set his fork down though, pulling his legs up onto his chair to hug instead.

“Because she loved him,” Jonathan continued, “he was hurt and abused as a way to hurt her. Because he loved her more than anything in the world, he lost his whole world as a 7-year-old when he lost her. It’s not that Edward has never been loved or cared for so he doesn’t understand it but that he knows too intimately the cruelty that can be inflicted and suffered because of love; I think it would break him to go through that a second time.” Jonathan sighed heavily. “If his words earlier felt in any way like those of someone attempting to convince themself of something, they likely were; he deliberately stops himself growing too attached to anyone, friends or lovers. That’s why Query and Echo were sent away, and why he left us this morning when it all seemed to be going so well. It was going too well for him.”

“Do you think he wants to be with us?” Jervis asked.

“I couldn’t say. There’s too much Edward never says. His emotional intelligence and social skills are poor, although simply as a fault of him being autistic. As with his other shortcomings, he covers everything with bluster and egotism, cultivates this image of his superiority to keep people at bay and maintain his own shaky self-esteem. Edward tells himself a lot of lies to keep his very vulnerable, self-protecting view of the world together,” Jonathan said sadly.

“Is it best to just play along with them then? I mean, in the long-term though...”

The psychologist in Jonathan shrugged in defeat as well. “I don’t know how to help Edward. Even though so much of this problem, and others of his, stem from fear, I have made little inroads into helping him.”

“You’ve tried?” Jervis asked, a little surprised he’d admit.

“Originally from the basis of professional curiosity and research, then to prove my superiority to the Arkham doctors who had all failed, maybe now from truly caring about him as a friend. I don’t know,” Jonathan sighed in consternated defeat. “He’s such a psychological cliché even; all his problems stem from his mother in one way or another. His desire for attention and superiority has nothing to do with proving himself to his father as some think, or not in my belief at least; after he lost his mother he no longer had anyone to tell him how proud they were of him and validate how truly impressive he is as she used to. That’s why he became the Riddler to get that again, after years spent exhausting socially acceptable paths to it such as school and his previous career.”

“If we could give him that though, or someone else... Would that be enough? Or has the behavioural pattern settled too deep now?”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan simply had to say again. “Perhaps finding again that source of validation and love he craves is the only answer. Perhaps confronting what happened to him and his mother would allow him to stop searching. Perhaps he can never be cured as what he truly wants is his mother back and that’s something he can never have. I don’t know, Jervis.”

Fork back in hand, no reason to let the good food go to waste, Jervis speared and turned contemplatively one of the slices of banana in his bowl. “...I must admit my natural inclination jumps to using one of my cards to force him to do what he needs to, or else rewire his brain.” He laughed slightly at that thought. “I do like Edward as he is though, I find. I don’t like to think of him suffering alone because of all this, but he’s a good friend actually. I didn’t think I’d ever be saying that when we first met.”

“I was the same. I think it’s simply his attempt to keep emotional distance before he warms up to you however,” Jonathan agreed. “I wouldn’t change this Edward either, despite his many irritating behaviours and habits.” Jervis chuckled around his toast at the expression on Jonathan’s face. “I’ll leave it up to him therefore. Until he wants to change it’s not as if anyone could make any progress with him anyway. Perhaps the right person could finally make him want to change, but I don’t think that’s us.” He picked up the crust of his toast, ready to finish his meal and wash up.

And then the front door closed.

Almost spooked, Jonathan stared in the direction of the hallway. “...Crap,” he actually muttered for once, covering his face with his free palm.

“I-I heard the front door open for sure,” Jervis stammered. “I just assumed he had...”

“I know.” Sighing, Jonathan dragged the hand off his face and finished his toast. “It’s all right. Edward is aware of all his problems, as I said; I know he’s aware I know most of them as well, even if we let it go unsaid between us. From the way he was treating you I don’t imagine he minds you knowing either.”

“Just don’t say anything about it in his presence,” Jervis guessed.

“Yes.” He looked to the empty doorway again, clearly visible from where they both sat. “He’d have come back in and objected if he had any real problem with anything we said, even if very little of it was things he ever would have admitted himself.”

“Should we go after him?”

“No. In my experience Edward insists on being alone after anything like this, time to re-establish his protective distance and lies or such.” Jonathan gathered up his plate and bowl tiredly, stacking them to carry to the sink. “He’ll be fine, Jervis.”

“Will he ask for help if he won’t be?”

Jonathan let his hand linger on the empty bowl as he set it down, staring at Edward’s items left beside it. “...I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for skimping out on the sex scene but I was running out of time, this chapter was running too long and I just wasn't in the mood for writing it. So you'll just have to imagine it for yourself.  
> If you need some inspiration fodder though, Edward went down on them both while they made out. Then Edward let Jervis top him while Jonathan watched and jacked off; since he's a shameless slut Edward probably swallowed that load down too when Jonathan finally came before making out with Jervis to rub it in. They're very horny boys when all three are together.
> 
> If you’re a Batman fan and don’t know who Pee-wee Herman/Paul Reubens is you might recognise him as the actor who played Oswald Cobblepot’s father in both the _Batman Returns_ film and _Gotham_. I'm a big fan and I felt Jervis would be too.
> 
> Edward's problems and romantic life are continued in my series ['Our Reflection in the TV'](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1092003) set a few years later in-universe after the TV show _Gotham_ begins airing.


	13. The Fabulous Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Pirryno’ is Anglo-Romani; it means ‘Sweetheart’ or ‘Darling’, that sort of endearment.

Half of Jervis’ consciousness returned to him at first, reality melding with his current dream in a tugging feeling something wasn’t right but the sensation he had no control over what he could do about it.

Then he jerked awake suddenly, startled for why until he looked over his shoulder at the sleepy but increasingly violent twitching and whimpering noises coming from Jonathan. He exhaled in slight relief for his own sake but quickly made the preparations, sitting up with a pillow hugged in front of him before reaching to turn on the light on his side of the bed. “Jonathan? Jonathan?” Jervis urged with increasing volume.

Facing away from the light, it took a painfully long moment for Jonathan to properly awaken. Jervis was mostly out of range when a slight shift of the bed caused Jonathan to lash out on terrified instinct, clawing at the pillow-shield before his hand flinched back as utter confusion took over and the hyperventilation set in.

“You’re in our bedroom, in Gotham, Jonathan,” Jervis supplied, helping Jonathan’s poor brain connect what it was seeing to reality again. “You didn’t hurt me, it’s okay.” No nosebleeds like the first time, before Jervis had learnt the value of a pillow in these situations. “Cover your nose now, small breaths.”

Jonathan behaved with a child-like compliance to Jervis’ gentle, patient voice, pressing the heels of his palm to either side of his nose to force only the smallest breaths possible. He focused on Jervis’ hand soothing his forehead as he was told as well, the trembling buzz of all his veins causing him to whimper against it, eyes pressed tight enough to tear.

With time Jonathan nodded the hyperventilation and other immediate symptoms were passing, leaving him slumped in utter fatigue. “Cold flannel?” Jonathan nodded with a child-like eagerness. Jervis moved to climb out of the bed slowly, allowing Jonathan time to grab him if he realised he’d rather not be alone quite yet. This time Jonathan remained as he was slumped, looking drowsy from the under-breathing as he slowly returned it to a rhythmic normal.

Jervis returned with a cold flannel from the bathroom soon, pressing it all over Jonathan’s exposed skin with encouragement to focus on the sensation. The new sensory information seemed to be doing its work, shifting Jonathan’s mind off the cause of his panic attack and grounding him in reality; he leant forward even at one point, despite needing to lean on both arms to support himself in even that, to let Jervis rub the flannel over his back as well.

Once Jervis returned to the bed again, hands dry and free of the flannel, Jonathan pulled him into his arms with the tightest grip, curling around Jervis desperately to let the warmth of another human body take its soporific effect on his sporadically-trembling body.

~#~

Jervis woke first again, the heat and light of summer rousing him just before 6am. Jonathan’s death-grip hadn’t lessened in the night but he was peacefully still at least, leaving Jervis a good quandary what to do.

Eventually discomfort won out and he began to tug himself free, sitting up and letting the covers pool around his bare waist and Jonathan’s shoulders. The grip of those rigor mortis-tight arms shifted down his body with it but refused to let go.

Jervis sighed. He wasn’t getting out of bed without waking Jonathan, but that would mean...

Seven minutes that ticked slowly by on the bedside clock later, “Jonathan?” Jervis ran a hand through his hair, smoothing down to Jonathan’s shoulders to shake one of the tight arms around him. “I need the bathroom, pirryno.”

Jonathan groaned at least; life!

With time he even struggled up to sitting as well, slumping back into the pillows but allowing Jervis the freedom to escape to the en suite.

He was still slumped there upon Jervis’ return, a grumpy king couchant on an even more dishevelled throne. It had set in already then. “Jonathan-”

“Sorry,” Jonathan snapped out quickly, only his poor mood to blame for his tone.

Jervis sighed. “You know I don’t mind.” He climbed back into bed, tugging the covers back around his waist where he sat for some modesty. “Are you all right?”

“Normal.” Normal for the morning after one of his PTSD nightmares: In a very ill-tempered mood and full of self-loathing that he was _still_ weak to these episodes, that he still hadn’t made any progress in treating or coping with his PTSD, that if he couldn’t even do this no wonder his research was getting nowhere and that it likely never would, that he was useless, had let someone else see him in such a state, was still afraid of her- “This is ridiculous...” Jonathan snarled under his breath as he threw back his side of the covers to get up and also use the en suite, voice almost quivering with what lay beneath the anger.

Jervis hung by the closed door just to listen in case, but got back into bed once satisfied Jonathan wasn’t doing anything worrying. He did take a long time after washing his hands, as usual, but Jervis gave him his privacy for that.

A much more subdued Jonathan re-emerged some minutes later, anger already crumbling into a bitter sullenness that would only drop further as the morning progressed. A couple of days of depression and it would pass, nothing said.

Until the next time it happened all over again.

“Jonathan...”

“I’m pathetic...” His hands ran through his hair, covering his head; an old physical defence mechanism co-opted for emotional protection as well. He didn’t even come back to bed, going to the chest of drawers for clothes to start the day.

“Jonathan...” Jervis slipped out of bed as well, padding across the carpet to behind where Jonathan had stopped stock-still sifting through the sock drawer. “It’s a complicated matter; you’ll make progress with time.” No response? “I... I-I’ve noticed something about the last few times you’ve had these that might help, maybe; they’ve all been nights after we-”

“‘Progress with time’?” he repeated with a cruel rasp to his voice, stopping Jervis dead. “He’s made no progress in nearly twenty years; he _is_ pathetic.”

“...Scarecrow?” Jervis dared to lean around slightly, catching the side of an unnatural-looking smirk as Scarecrow sorted through the drawer again, holding up some of Jervis’ more psychedelic socks in comparison to Jonathan’s plainer fare. “...Those are my socks.”

“I’m wearing them today.” He also pulled out that pair of boxers Jonathan always considered too ‘novelty’ with the little cartoon pumpkins all over them, that had always puzzled Jervis why Jonathan even kept them in that case.

“A-All right,” Jervis supposed; at least Scarecrow seemed cheerful, more than Jonathan would have been for days if they hadn’t switched. “...Is... Is there a reason you finally came out to meet me?” Or should he rephrase that as Jonathan had let him out? Well, since he was talking to Scarecrow now-

“He didn’t want to hide behind me as he normally does when he meets anyone new, so you could connect with someone as himself for once so he says; that’s why you haven’t met me before. But this has nothing to do with you, only how pathetic he is.” Scarecrow began to dress with what he had so far. “Well, you should stop coddling him like you do; I did need to tell you that.”

“I only do that because I care for Jonathan.”

“So do I, so you ought to be helping him overcome the root of this instead of merely treating the symptoms,” Scarecrow near spat, wandering over to the wardrobe. “He’s scared of his PTSD; that’s why he can’t get rid of it or stop it controlling him. The coward needs to face up to it instead of running back to you to be comforted. He likes that too much, finally having someone to comfort him when he’s scared.”

Jervis watched Scarecrow pull out Jonathan’s various everyday clothes with a disdain, then taking out some of Jervis’ more interesting ones and holding them up in vain to see if they could possibly be stretched to fit. “Flooding then, instead of gradual exposure?” he supposed speaking to the God of Fear he ought to speak the language of it.

“He’s had twenty years of exposure, of hoping ‘Oh, maybe next time will be better’,” Scarecrow put on a child-like voice for a moment. “He knows he’s scared of it. He doesn’t know how to stop being scared of it. All his research is useless.” He pulled out some of Jonathan’s less-often worn skinny jeans and a rather purple plaid shirt, proceeding to dress in both. “He’s never going to solve it at this rate, just a scared little boy...”

With the start of that nursery rhyme-like lilting tone now emerging, “What... If you don’t mind me asking, and ‘”if _I’m_ only a sort of thing in his dream, what are _you_ , I should like to know?”’”

“Hmm?” Scarecrow’s head dropped onto one side, pausing a moment before doing his jeans up. “You really can say almost anything with those quotes of yours, can’t you?”

“’”When _I_ use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less,”’” Jervis answered, if it could really be called that.

Scarecrow remained amused at least. But when it came to his answer, “~A wise old owl lived in an oak, The more he saw the less he spoke, The less he spoke the more he heard, Now, wasn’t he a wise old bird?~”

And since Scarecrow would say no more, simply buttoned up his shirt in the middle to a degree it could barely be called more closed than opened before heading down to breakfast, Jervis supposed all he could do was dress and follow.

Jervis spent the day peering around corners and treading as silently as possible, trying to keep every bit of sound he might produce to a minimum to keep maximum awareness of his surroundings; while he didn’t believe Scarecrow would hurt him, not after recognising this wasn’t the first time they had actually met thanks to a couple of heists where the difference was hard to tell behind the mask, he remained fittingly nervous of the God of Fear. What Scarecrow was, why he was suddenly and finally in control, how he differed from Jonathan...

Scarecrow followed their normal, daily routine: He worked in Jonathan’s laboratory alone most of the morning, played sous-chef chopping the vegetables for lunch – Although insisted on spaghetti bolognaise compared to Jonathan’s usual acceptance of whatever was nutritiously sufficient and Jervis fancied today – and watched Jervis to continue learning how to actually cook, washed up then returned to his study to work again. Jervis peered in around that door a few times, curious if Scarecrow was at work on the same things as Jonathan; he wasn’t, looking over Jonathan’s journals and folders of notes instead of performing chemical reactions.

After the second time peering in on Scarecrow in such a way- “Hatter~” Scarecrow sung to him from his chair, back still to the door and Jervis. The spy revealed himself anyway, stepping into the doorway proper as Scarecrow let the sheaf of papers in the current folder he held open flutter shut. With all the lingering terror of a horror movie, Scarecrow slowly turned his chair to face Jervis. “Did you need something?” he asked in his raspy version of Jonathan’s voice.

“Oh... no... Simply...” How to put he was concerned by the fact Jonathan was still gone, by what Scarecrow was up to in here, by Scarecrow in general? “Do you need anything?” A moment passed in which the almost identical questions hung awkwardly, and Jervis realised it. “I simply... Would you mind awfully if I simply said I wished to get to know you better, Scarecrow?” Yes, that sounded reasonable.

Scarecrow held him with a very strange expression – Jervis began to feel there was a good reason this personality was the one that mainly came out behind a mask – for a moment, head dropping inhumanly to one side in consideration. “...All right.” He rose, stalking forward quickly, drawing up in front of Jervis with an almost dance-like quality to his step. A hand had raised, splayed fingers held upside-down near the bottom hem of Jervis’ T-shirt. Scarecrow’s gaze flicked from down there after a meaningful linger to meet Jervis’, holding his in a silent question. “...Well, Jonathan’s little toy? Don’t you want me to play with you as well?”

He took ‘know’ in the Biblical sense, didn’t he? “I didn’t mean that sort of ‘know’, you know,” Jervis felt at need to clarify.

“How was I to know?” Scarecrow teased back, grinning. “So many sorts to choose from...” His fingers began to flex and move closer to Jervis’ body, “...let’s pick the one I like best...”

Jervis sighed in slight relaxation, enough to signal Scarecrow could touch him; a hand slid under his shirt and up instantly, smoothing around his waist and flicking the waistband of his boxers while Jervis said, “Your libido is separate to Jonathan’s then?” such forward behaviour being otherwise unheard of.

“Not exactly...” Scarecrow mentioned distractedly, enjoying being able to lift Jervis’ shirt and reveal so much light brown skin beneath. “You’re so scared of me...” Jervis tensed awkwardly, admitting it somewhat grudgingly. “It’s beautiful.” Scarecrow’s fist suddenly tightened in Jervis’ shirt, dragging him along the upstairs hallway towards the bedroom. “Can my little Hatter play today?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Jervis answered, since it was enough to know Scarecrow at least cared to ask that. “The fear aside.”

Pulling Jervis around, almost under his arm like dancing again, “Oh, but the fear is the best part,” Scarecrow grinned down at him, walking Jervis back towards the bed with one hand still at his waist and another on his shoulder. “The anticipation, the wondering if your trust in me is safely placed or not, that heightened uncertainty about what will come next-” He shoved Jervis back and onto the bed, a move that had been practically expectable thanks to him going on like a Bond villain about all this. “What will you do, hm? What will my little Hatter do?” Scarecrow crawled on top of him, practically cooing.

‘Hatter’? Well, if that was how Scarecrow wanted to play it, “’”Now, if only you’d kept on good terms with him,”’” Jervis began, slipping into a more relaxed and unhinged voice, “’”he’d do almost anything you liked with the clock.”’” His gaze slipped beneath his long lashes as well, sultry and unruffled in comparison to the creature on top of him pawing at his clothes.

One of Scarecrow’s hands skittered spider-like up Jervis’ chest beneath his shirt, “Fear and control...” while his tongue ran up Jervis’ neck, “Fear and madness...” Jervis merely laughed at the motions, unfazed. “Jonathan picked such a fun, little toy...”

“Ah, but the mighty Scarecrow has such a weak and mortal human body, even if he is a god.” Jervis hand stilled resting over Scarecrow’s clothed erection, managing to tilt his head to meet one eye of contact; Scarecrow was eyeing him warily, waiting. Jervis raised one eyebrow, moving his hand slightly and feeling Scarecrow grind his hips down into it. “Interesting...” he murmured.

“What?” Scarecrow rasped, moving into position fully atop Jervis, no chance of his prey escaping.

Jervis tilted his head slightly, keeping what eye contact he could and starting slowly, “Jonathan is uncomfortable about being touched here,” He gave another stroke, fingers and thumb tracing the long outline of Scarecrow’s erection, “unless he’s also pleasuring me at the same time.” After a moment without reply, “Why did you ask for my Mad Hatter persona – Oh, we both know it’s nothing more than a persona in my case, one I can put on and take off at will as easily as my top hat – instead? To match you? To distract me into playing a game?” he asked more knowingly. “What are you trying to distract me from, Scarecrow?”

One of Scarecrow’s hands settled on Jervis’ neck, light in pressure but firm nonetheless. “Is my little Hatter trying to scare me?”

‘What will my little Hatter do’, had he said? “...Yes,” Jervis decided, “that’s exactly what I’ll try to do.” Scarecrow responded with scratchy laughter, waiting a mere inch above Jervis’ face to see what he would do in that case.

Why did Scarecrow not resist receiving pleasure like Jonathan did?

Why did he initiate sex where Jonathan would never dare?

Why did he dress so sensually, and in clothes Jonathan wanted to keep but never wore?

He took from Jervis’ body for himself during sex in a way Jonathan didn’t- No, that Jonathan had done once, when he got carried away, when he’d been acting on instinct and had since sworn off from guilt after scaring Jervis, that he kept such a strong control over himself now to prevent happening again. He did everything Jonathan would never let himself do.

“What are you?” Jervis finally spoke. “You are Jonathan’s instincts, everything he wants to do but can’t; after all, if he’s someone else his rules no longer apply.”

“I’m everything Jonathan suppresses when it comes to social interactions, from the murdering idiots who misunderstand us or get in our way to this side only you see; even those foolish psychologists at Arkham have figured that out,” Scarecrow mocked back.

But, “Then the same applies to everything you said this morning,” Jervis said. “Why did you finally appear to speak to me this morning? Because there were things Jonathan wanted to say to me but couldn’t himself.” Scarecrow grew chillingly emotionless above him; bingo. “That he’s made no progress in twenty years,” Jervis began, casting his mind back, “that he doesn’t want me to coddle him but instead of push him through this or whatever he needs to help him, that he’s scared of his own PTSD – Jonathan could never admit he’s still scared of anything directly for fear of it being used against him – that he likes being comforted for me, that he feels all his research is useless if he can’t do this-” Jervis fell quiet, watching Scarecrow’s back where he’d scrambled off and hunched up sulkily down the bed. “Everything this morning, from how you dress to how you act with me, is that how Jonathan would be if he could?”

Sulking a moment longer in silence, “...Maybe,” Scarecrow mumbled. Jervis lay back, re-evaluating everything Scarecrow had said and done in this new light. “Maybe not,” Scarecrow added though. “He doesn’t always know what he wants, who he really is.”

“So you run experiments for him, hm? Is that it?” Jervis humoured, rolling over onto his front. He didn’t mind the lack of reply. “The need for a consistent self, a narrative we can tell ourself; humans have a need for personal progression to feel their finite life has been spent in a meaningful way. I suppose suffering with something like PTSD for twenty years must...” He fell quiet. “Jonathan doesn’t know who he is in full?” he tried on a slightly different track. “Going through trauma and/or abuse can stunt areas of development permanently, or so they say.”

“Being the person he wants, acting in the way he wants, little Johnny is too afraid to do it himself, after his childhood. Handing himself over to me allows him to be what he wants,” Scarecrow said, picking almost crow-like at the duvet cover. “Only for those fools assign us to a mental asylum for it. How fitting...”

Jervis pulled himself up to sitting, still allowing Scarecrow to sit with his back to him; he didn’t need to be facing Jonathan to talk about this. “And would receiving pleasure during sex be one of those things he wants but is too afraid to have?” Scarecrow stilled, maybe just the slightest inclining his head backwards over his shoulder. “I know it wasn’t something you stated or demonstrated openly, that you wanted to talk about today, but I have noticed Jonathan won’t let me touch him any more than it takes to bring him to erect or pleasure him orally more than briefly for lubrication. I’m still adjusting to bottoming so that could account for him always topping, but he seems to have a... need to be dominant during sex, as if he requires it to feel comfortable during sex, one I don’t think is simply about helping cure my fear of lack of control.”

Scarecrow went back to picking at the duvet but at an inclined enough angle to show he was listening.

“I don’t believe he also fears a lack of control, not in this scenario at least. But perhaps of letting go of himself and showing vulnerable, human reactions? He seems remarkably quiet and composed during sex, and never reaches orgasm; Jonathan seems almost... scared of his own pleasure,” Jervis dared to say. He snorted lightly. “I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise she shamed and punished him in regard to things from that area of life, I’d guess?”

“He never even did anything of that sort,” Scarecrow muttered. “All those times she falsely accused him of such bodily sins, just so she’d have another excuse for her torture...”

Jervis sighed. “I suppose it’s no use saying I wouldn’t shame him or react negatively if he wanted to receive pleasure?” He watched the still body hunched in front of him, no movement now. “I imagine I haven’t been helping either, reacting negatively because of my own issues. He must fear losing control over himself after what happened that one time.”

“...It’s not your fault, Jervis.” Still he didn’t move, “I was afraid of losing composure and the front I normally project in the presence of someone else from the beginning of our relationship,” but Jonathan did speak to him again. “There are simply some barriers I can’t bring down.”

“That you have to have Scarecrow do instead.”

Jonathan said nothing, nor nodded, but still managed to admit that.

Jervis released a pensive breath, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Still Jonathan faced away from him, unable or unwilling to turn around now he supposed. “...I’m going to hug you from behind, Jonathan,” Jervis telegraphed; “I know you have at least one syringe of fear toxin on your person somewhere if you object.”

He was pretty sure he felt Jonathan smiling as he wrapped his arms around Jonathan’s shoulders, and Jonathan mumbled out a very sorry apology.

~#~

After a very quiet, subdued night, over breakfast the next morning Jervis sat pensively behind his cereal.

Jonathan noticed himself being observed across the table and raised an eyebrow in question.

Fiddling with his spoon, “I was thinking... We’ve been dabbling in BDSM and such for fun, Jonathan,” he began uncertainly. “But I’ve been considering that perhaps we might repurpose the psychology involved to... Well.” He could see his audience was genuinely interested by his expression but finding the words for this... “For therapeutic purposes, I suppose I’m trying to say. Although I fear I’m going to make a complete hash of explaining this-”

“To help you overcome your fear of not being in control within a controlled environment?” Jonathan guessed. “Yes. I’ve already been attempting to apply it for that purpose, although as you said we’ve only dabbled so far-”

“No,” Jervis had to interrupted. “For... you. For your problems during sex, Jonathan.” he dared to say. “I-I’ve noticed that your PTSD often strikes the night after we’ve been intimate in some way,” he continued while Jonathan simply stared blankly, giving every impression of a predator deciding how soon he could attack his prey. “A-And during sex...”

“...What?” Jonathan prompted.

Given he hadn’t had his head bitten off yet, “You... Y-You appear to have a difficulty experiencing pleasure, for want of a better phrasing. Both in terms of being comfortable when you realise you are experiencing it but also recognising it in the first place.” He paused, watching as Jonathan stared away now to a corner of the room. At least it wasn’t the outburst of anger he’d feared, but... “Jonathan?”

There was no response for a very long moment, as Jonathan merely continued to stare into space and his toast grew cold half-eaten before him. Then, “...You are not incorrect, I think, Jervis. I hadn’t really considered it before, or that my experience might be abnormal I suppose,” he admitted, gaze downturned blankly. “I am familiar enough with all forms of fear, nervousness, anxiety and such to have no problem telling them apart; they are simple and make sense to me. But you were correct in identifying before that I have alexithymia when it comes to identifying other emotions I am experiencing. Combined with the complicated mixture of shame, guilt, anger and so on I experience together with pleasure because of what was instilled in me growing up, I suppose I do find sexual pleasure confusing; it is never a simple, easy feeling for me. I... do deliberately or inadvertently avoid it sometimes because of that uncomfortable sensation of confusion it brings, yes. You may well be right that is also provoking instances of my PTSD, I think.” Twitching on the table, his hand settled back on his toast to nibble unenthusiastically at from a sense of procedure and defence.

“Scarecrow seemed unbothered by receiving pleasure; does the same not affect him?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Scarecrow isn’t bound by anything psychologically instilled in me; he feels no shame or guilt, holds no anger to have been manipulated and punished. I still don’t know if he... He still experiences a degree of inability to recognise the pleasure itself, but he doesn’t have the other complications at least that I do.”

“Is that to do with...?” Jervis stayed where he had trailed off this time, shaking his head when Jonathan prompted him to continue. “’”UNimportant, your Majesty means.”’ What I wanted to suggest was that you give control over to me sometimes, allow me to help you adjust to receiving and experiencing pleasure in a controlled environment and all that. You wouldn’t have to do anything you were uncomfortable with, of course, such as if you don’t want to bottom-”

“The point of this will be to have me do things I currently find uncomfortable, Jervis,” Jonathan pointed out with some amusement. “And this isn’t just your way of wriggling out of me assisting your with your control issues, is it?”

“Certainly not!” Jervis huffed even at the accusation. “And I simply meant it’s about helping you to become comfortable with things you wish to be comfortable with; it’s not about pushing you into doing things you never wish to try.” He sipped at his tea, waiting for an answer until a pensive lack made him consider, “...You do wish to become comfortable with receiving pleasure, don’t you, Jonathan?”

Jonathan spent a moment scratching at the inside of one ear, the distant noises of Gotham’s police force out on the streets, as ever, and children rowdily making their way to school filling the silence. Eventually he just sighed. “Even that is a hard thing for me to admit to, Jervis. After the way I was raised I...” He nodded. “All right. Tonight is a little premature for me but tomorrow evening should be fine.”

“Frabjous! I suppose I’d best get planning then.”

~#~

Start small; that seemed the way, of course.

Simply sit naked together and have Jonathan accustom to being exposed and vulnerable.

Force Jonathan, one way or the other mentally or physically, to stay still and be pleasured in small, gentle ways.

Have Jonathan pleasure himself observed or alone by commanding him to.

And yet-

Jervis sighed, this time pressing his face into his hands into despair and trying not to flinch at the sounds of Jonathan having an autistic meltdown in the other room, muffled banging as he threw safe objects and himself around in a space he’d thankfully designed and padded somewhat for it.

Grabbing his pyjamas to pull back on, and Jonathan’s ready for him, Jervis made his tired way out into the hallway and leant against the wall Jonathan was on the other side of, sinking down until he was sat with his knees drawn up and back pressed up against the skirting board.

Receiving pleasure from someone else definitely made Jonathan uncomfortable – He struggled to even look at Jervis while it was happening, and barely responded past an initial and basic reaction to being touched – so best to begin with him giving pleasure to himself.

Unobserved Jonathan grew embarrassed and unmotivated however. Jervis meant his sitting in to be comforting and give Jonathan a purpose therefore, maybe even inspiration he could hope. Yet all it seemed to do was put a pressure on the situation; he’d meant to be encouraging, help Jonathan past his reluctance, giving the command, “Be beautiful for me,” – And Jonathan sure as heck needed to know how beautiful he was, both physically and mentally – but after a couple of uncomfortable minutes trying...

As the sounds inside the room quietened Jervis lifted his head hopefully from his knees, looking to the door beside him. He waited unmoving, slowly daring himself to relax as the noise didn’t resume despite a few times pre-emptively flinching at the normal sounds of the house and Gotham outside it.

When five good minutes had passed, “Jonathan?” Jervis called softly before following with a knock.

After a moment, and the sounds of muffled movement that frightened him on instinct, he received an accepting knock in reply.

Jervis opened the door slowly, peering round at the first opportunity to check which side Jonathan was sat on before accidentally opening the thing into the poor man’s face. “Over?” he asked.

Jonathan’s head lolled a bit, his tired attempt at nodding.

Stepping inside, “Pyjamas?” he offered out to Jonathan as he crouched, helping Jonathan take ahold of them and begin dressing. “’”I wonder what they’ll do next! As for pulling me out of the window, I only wish they _could_! I’m sure I don’t want to stay here any longer!”’” He sat back on the floor cross-legged, elbows resting heavily on his knees as he watched Jonathan do the rest of his dressing himself. “I don’t think this is working, my dear. I’m sorry, both for failing and for putting you through all,” He gestured at Jonathan’s present state, “this in the process of finding that out.”

Jonathan shook his hanging head, taking a moment to signal with an X made of fingers in front of his throat he was non-verbal right now. Jervis sat and waited patiently still, plenty to consider, and watched over Jonathan’s recovery until, “...Just have to keep trying,” Jonathan finally managed.

“Hm? Oh no!” Jervis pleaded; “I hate seeing you put in this state, Jonathan. It’s not worth it-”

“Is,” Jonathan cut in, eyes closed and body very still aside from the trembling racking it. “Need to.”

“’”Stuff and nonsense!”’ I know you feel you need to overcome your PTSD for your research but-”

“Cards.” Jervis fell quiet, because Jonathan surely didn’t mean, “Use your cards on me.”

“Use my mind controlling cards to force you through this? To stop you from acting out the flashbacks and autistic meltdowns you think are stopping you making progress?” Jervis clarified. “For God’s sake, Jonathan; the human mind does such things for a reason!” he near-shouted. “Such coping mechanisms are protection, a way to-”

“They’re a weakness I have no need of!”

“You’re a human being; human beings are weak, Jonathan-!”

“No, they’re not! Not like I am!” Jonathan smacked his palms repeatedly on the hard wood floor in frustration. “They can all do this! Why shouldn’t I be able to?! The fears left in my brain are illogical; not only are they unfounded now I’m free of that life, I was able to survive them anyway! I have no right to still be afraid of them!”

“That’s not how fear works-!”

“FEAR WILL WORK HOW I TELL IT TO! I’m the God of Fear! I am its master!” Jonathan’s fist punched into the floor now, wild and unhinged gaze swinging up to settle on Jervis ready to make him the next target. “You don’t understand! You can just... enjoy it! You can just enjoy everything, lose some touch with reality when it’s not to your liking and play pretend it is! You don’t have to worry all the time, worry about if people are scared enough of you to keep yourself safe, worry your whole life’s work is going to be for nothing – You’ve made something the size of a playing card that can fucking control people’s minds! – worry that you’re just a pathetic, broken human who got their one chance at life messed up for them before they ever had a chance!” He continued to breath fiercely, daring Jervis’ frown to spit out its objection so he’d have a reason to attack. Jonathan’s glare didn’t soften, although it shifted away from the confrontation of direct eye contact as he spat out, “You’re right; we can’t use cards to force me through this. It won’t properly cure me unless I can do this naturally.”

“...’Cure you’; that’s all this is about for you,” Jervis said.

“What else was it meant to be about?”

Jervis held the anger of the moment briefly longer, then dropped it completely. “I wanted you to be able to enjoy yourself, Jonathan, to be able to be happy...”

After a moment Jonathan relented too, slumping back against the wall utterly exhausted. “That doesn’t matter to me, Jervis; you don’t need to worry about it.”

“It matters to me,” Jervis realised he’d blurted out, biting his bottom lip sincerely.

“...Thank you,” Jonathan accepted uncomfortably. “All I really wanted was to be able to engage with you, give you what you deserve...” He picked at the drawstring of his shorts, pulling apart the individual threads of the tassel. “You can enjoy these things, Jervis; you deserve someone who can give you that.”

“Oh please.” Jervis drew in a long breath, shuffling over to sit with his back to the wall beside Jonathan. “I can’t truly enjoy it if you don’t, pirryno. And you know I’d never take another lover except you.”

“We’ve both slept with Edward,” Jonathan pointed out. “He’s able to give you that...”

Jervis rolled his eyes up witheringly. “I believe we can both agree the Dormouse doesn’t count in these things.” Jonathan smiled tiredly, willing to let the point drop. “Is that why you don’t seem to mind it if you’re deriving second-hand pleasure as a side-effect of giving it to me? It’s always been about me?”

“I believe I informed you sex is unnecessary for me. But you seemed to want it so...” He shrugged the best he could. “I don’t feel I deserve pleasure; not never, but not in instances where I’m not also giving it to someone else. It feels wrong to receive without giving,” he admitted rather innocently and simply.

“As polite as that is, dear, have you ever considered I derive pleasure of a different kind giving you pleasure?” Since Jonathan’s blank expression told he patently hadn’t, “I don’t like to receive pleasure without giving it either, Jonathan,” Jervis said, hovering his hand above Jonathan’s for a moment in warning before taking it to gently squeeze. “You do deserve pleasure, not because you’ve been a good or bad enough person but because you’re a human being; all human beings deserve to have pleasure in their life.”

“What if you’ve forgone your humanity?”

“You’re still a human being, Jonathan, whatever sins you’ve committed and whatever Scarecrow may be – I don’t even know which argument you’re using to insist you should suffer here.” That raised a small, genuine smile. “I suppose if you give yourself reasons you should be suffering it makes it easier to accept the fact that you are; is that what’s going on here perhaps?”

“...Perhaps,” was finally reluctantly drawn out of the psychologist who really ought to know better.

“Do you still want to continue with all this?” Jervis asked, knowing keeping things moving would stop Jonathan dwelling.

“Yes. Just give me a few days... or maybe a week.” Jonathan exhaled thoroughly, pulling his hand out from under Jervis’ to rest.

“Of course.”

“...Thank you,” Jonathan really needed to mention. “For your patience in general, and for stopping me pushing myself unhealthily. I just lose my patience sometimes with how... weak I perceive myself to be.”

Jervis settled comfortably as well, bowing his head slightly with a calm smile. “That’s all right. I’ve seen the power your reputation commands; I’ve always admired the work it must take to maintain as a person behind the mask.”

They sat longer in silence, Jonathan occasionally making the move to say something always unsuccessfully in the end, until enough time had passed sat on the increasingly uncomfortable wooden floor to encourage them off to bed for the night.

~#~

The problem really was that Jonathan thought too much. Both agreed on that after a number more conversations while Jonathan was recuperating, and his research bore out people with phobias could often overcome the first step, too often the fear of the fear itself, with a bout of unthinking action fuelled by adrenaline and instinct to realise they could confront their fear after all.

Such a rush didn’t seem quite appropriate here, but then Jervis asked, “Have you ever heard of subspace?” The psychological surrendering to your dominant sexual partner’s orders, to the instinct simply to please and do instead of think. It might work with Jonathan.

It did work with Jonathan. Starting far, far slower this time only ordering him to do things he was already comfortable with opened the door. Slow amounts of pleasure received just for short periods, not enough time to start worrying and spiralling inside his head. Increasing the pleasure, the duration; a blindfold and ban on talking to stop him wondering what that sensation was, orders not to try and work it out, just to feel it. He even kept his eyes closed afterwards until Jervis had put the toys away, forcing himself to remain unaware for months Jervis had repurposed an old electric toothbrush into a DIY vibrator and that sensation he really liked was anal beads – Really, of all embarrassing things...

But embarrassment was thinking, reflecting, a path back to anxiety. Freed in subspace, eventually Jervis got Jonathan to a point he could be forced to admit he wanted Jervis to do to him; the humiliation of admitting he had human desires like everyone else could become a simple order to follow this way, so could anything else with just more time.

Only ever with Jervis – Whenever Edward found his way back into their bed things were back to business as usual, and Edward didn’t need to know why Jonathan had to be pleasuring one of them in order to comfortably get himself through receiving a blowjob – but that was enough.

Just one human being in the world he could also be just a human being with. With whom he didn’t need to be... well.

Jervis guessed it without needing to be told in the end, why Jonathan had a second literally non-human self to be. That it was more than just fear of the unknown being scarier, but also to hold those closer at a distance. A being they couldn’t have feelings for, that he could better control what they thought of and him by extension, that meant they couldn’t just think of him as another human being and thus believe they could work out what he was thinking and feeling at any given moment.

Needless to say all that didn’t work on Jervis, both before and after he worked it all out. Scarecrow was a tiger he treated like a cat, always just one misjudgement away from getting mauled but never actually harmed by.

Sometimes Jervis would ask what Scarecrow thought of him, if Scarecrow liked him, loved him even like Jonathan.

Jonathan never answered.

He never answered when Jervis asked what Scarecrow was thinking about, what his opinion on something was, what Scarecrow even was.

And Jervis remained fine with that.

Until the day Jonathan no longer was.

It was many years later – How many he didn’t know; the Mad Hatter never got back on good terms with Time – when Jervis asked what Scarecrow was and finally received a true and thorough answer.

Jonathan, lying supine beside him in bed at that time, replied only after a long time thinking about it. He answered, “Scarecrow is my fear made real, which is to say all human fear. All humans fear in the same way; fear is one of the most universal and primitive human experiences, something even a baby can experience. It is innate, and thus it is the same for all humans. By embracing and controlling my own fear, I control the fear of all humans. He’s my path to the universal. That’s what Scarecrow is, Jervis.” He delivered the explanation with his gaze stuck to the shadowed ceiling of their hideout, and remained such after finishing.

Jervis lay on his side beside Jonathan, propped up on an elbow. “A path to the universal through the particular; he’s like art, Jonathan.”

Jonathan’s eyes slid over to him with a smile, for it was more of a facetious observation than serious comment, but soon returned to the darkness above.

Jervis also took a long moment thinking before replying. “You embraced what most people shy away from and hide from, that they want to believe is the only option is to do to such a thing. I suppose we’re all the same,” he said with a bit of a sigh. “Poison Ivy is humanity’s connection and subservient relationship to nature we try to ignore, the Clock King is our society’s obsession with time and the regulation then obedience to it. And so on.”

“And you’re the little bit of madness hiding in people’s non-conformity and quirks?” Jonathan suggested wryly.

“’“Not _quite right_ , I’m afraid; some of the words have gotten altered.”’” Jervis frowned. “I’m the fact humans want to hide from the unpleasant facts of reality in fictional worlds and lives. Only, like the rest, I’m the other side of the line at which it’s too far, too embraced.”

“And thus considered madness,” Jonathan finished the thought.

“The Joker is pure madness,” Jervis said after a further moment. “The psychological theories of humour hold that it exists to legitimise benign violations of social norms, that without occasional and safe violations the norms would become too oppressive in their rigidity and society would collapse. We reward such safe violations with laughter, but violations considered too far, that are no longer ‘benign’ or become threatening to the social norms rather than a pressure valve, are what is called insanity and madness. ‘Taking the joke too far’ as the phrase goes. The Joker stamps all over that line, drawing an attention to it people don’t want to see; normal people’s jokes are just the baby form of his madness.”

Jonathan had no reply for that, his silence instead a tacit agreement in this case once the words settled in.

Jervis also remained quiet, nothing else to add to his ideas. After a little time, “It’s nice to have someone to philosophise with late at night,” he smiled one of his small, truly pleased smiles.

Jonathan pulled a more amused smile, turning onto one side to switch off the light and settle.

Jervis lay down as well watching the back of Jonathan’s head and, as his eyes accustomed to the dark, picking out the small scars on the back of Jonathan’s neck and shoulders he hadn’t been able to cover from the crows. He always wanted to reach out and stroke them, stroke them right off Jonathan’s skin if possible, but he couldn’t and let Jonathan have his space instead.

“...He’s not real,” Jonathan said very quietly, just before Jervis fell asleep.

“Hm?” he replied drowsily.

“Scarecrow. He’s not a real disassociative identity, just a persona I’m practised at putting on when I need it, almost like an invisible friend living inside me,” Jonathan admitted. “I don’t know when I made him up – Young enough not to know what I was subconsciously doing so I’m still able to believe the lie, I suppose – or how I made him, but-”

“’”I always thought they were fabulous monsters!”’” Jervis said behind him. “’”If you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you.”’”

A ‘fabulous monster’, huh? “Thanks, Jervis,” Jonathan said with a soft smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seemed about time Jonathan got some of the exploration of his issues Jervis has had in previous chapters focusing on the more intimate side of his life. He's not the type to open them up as easily as Jervis though, or is more practised at hiding them at least. Also I could hardly do so much Jonathan without Scarecrow finally popping up! 
> 
> There's very little left to reveal about these two, or in this story at least (My other Hattercrow story set a few years later adds a few more things). In this story, all that's left now for these final two chapters is a chance to put all this development into practice.


	14. How Are You Doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A diversion into a heavily ensemble chapter this time. If you've checked the tags you might be able to guess who's coming.
> 
> Anyway, content warning for some discussion of abuse this chapter.

“What happened to the bishop?” Jonathan asked, holding up a rather char-bottomed white bishop from the chess box.

“Joker,” Edward answered. “Used it as the detonation switch for a bomb. Idiot busted out the wall to the janitor’s closet instead of outside though.”

“And the... knight?” Jervis asked, holding up the bottom half of what looked like it had been a black knight.

“Waylon,” Edward answered again. “Got hungry. Thought it’d taste like horse meat.”

“And the king?” Jonathan picked a very discoloured white king out of the box, mostly orange but also with bits of purple and blue mixed in.

Edward stared at that one for a long moment. “...You’ll have to search me on that one.” He reached over, plucking it from Jonathan’s fingers gingerly to inspect at a close but safe distance. “Which of us even could do something like this? If it was green I’d suspect Pamela,” he mused on as the rec room door opened again, admitting more patients. “Something contrasting then Harvey.”

“One of those B-wingers?” Jonathan proposed. “Maxie Zeus or Julian Day’s ilk?”

“Perhaps someone new with colour-related powers?” Jervis added to the theory.

“Colour-related powers would be pleasant,” Jonathan remarked, nodding to the walls and taking his bored gaze on a spin around their tedious greyness, “maybe brighten up the inside of...” he trailed off, gaze suddenly caught.

“As long as they’re less nuts than Lazlo or Victor,” Edward tutted.

“What’s wrong with the Unicorn?” Jervis asked. “He seemed very pleasant to me, even when I didn’t have any bread and butter to give him.”

“Not Fries. Zsasz,” Edward clarified. “You know, that serial killer who-”

“Harleen?” Jonathan cut in, speaking rather loudly and not to either of them his partners realised as they followed his gaze over in the direction of the door.

Together with two yawningly bored and uncaring guards, making fierce demands of some video games, a pogo stick or even a freakin’ yoyo until she too heard Jonathan’s call, stood a young, blond woman in inmate clothes and a light covering of injuries over her bare skin.

“Ooh!” Edward took in with great delight. “Petite, blond, youthful visage,” he confirmed as she turned around to them; “it looks like Jonathan has a type, Jervis.”

Jervis snorted. “Oh please. She’s probably just someone he knew at university or-”

“Professah Crane!”

Jervis gestured one hand demonstrably, point proven, in the short moment before a practical hurricane attacked the table, centring on Jonathan sat beside him.

“It looks like you have competition at least,” Edward remarked now at the new woman now latched tight around Jonathan in something that looked like a weaponised version of a hug.

“It looks more as if she’s trying to strangle him,” Jervis noted, watching with concern.

Struggling free for dear life, “Ha-Harleen, please!” Jonathan finally shoved her back with enough force, taking a moment to exhale and adjust his mangled glasses back onto his nose. “What are you doing in here? As an inmate at least.”

“Yeah, long story,” she laughed, hopping up to sit cross-legged on the table corner in a single motion. “I wasn’ a patient at first; I was a doc. Got a placement here after gettin’ my PhD, wanted to try an’ make a difference, ya know? But then I met Mistah J!”

“’Mistah J’?” Jervis enquired, his accent picking its way very uneasily through imitating hers.

Jonathan stared at her in near horror. “Please tell me you aren’t the psychiatrist who fell in love with the Joker they were talking about on the news.”

“They were talkin’ ‘bout us on the news?!” She squealed with delight.

Jonathan simply groaned, dropping his face into his hands and elbows onto the tabletop in despair.

Noting the particularly emotional response she was eliciting in his partner, “So, I take it you were at university with Jonathan?” Jervis asked. “A student of his?”

“Yep! Back when I was a first year Professah Crane was doin’ some student teachin’, tha year before he went,” She made a rather undignified spiralling motion pointed to her head. “Who’re you guys? Wait!” She swivelled, taking in Edward properly for the first time. “Aw, I know you; you’re tha Riddlah!” He pulled a slight face at the pronunciation but, “And you’re...” She turned back to Jervis, biting her lip “uh... Oh! I ‘member now! You’re Hat Guy!”

Edward broke out into very satisfied laughter as Jervis pulled a very ambivalent face trying to decide how to even respond to that.

“Harleen,” Finally pulling his face back out of his hands, “if I could-”

“It’s ‘Harley’ now, Harley Quinn,” she interrupted, “but yeah, yeah go on.”

“Harleen,” Jonathan persisted, “what precisely transpired between you and the Joker to make you believe that man can hold any form of love for you, or anything in this world?”

“Mistah J does love me,” Harley tutted. “We just... connected, just like we was meant ta be! It was a total _Romeo and Juliet_ thing.”

“Yes, and we all know how that turned out,” Jonathan added dryly.

“I only saw that version with Leonardo DiCaprio, and I fell asleep before tha end. Anyway!” Harley continued far too cheerfully, “He told me why he’s like he is, an’ he listened ta me for once – How many guys can ya say that about? – There’s a lost soul cryin’ out for help in there; I guess I was just tha first one that was able to look past all the Joker stuff an’ hear that,” she finished, musing very happily on her little story.

Seeing Jonathan’s disagreeing face about to pour cold water all over that though, “There is a man underneath the Joker,” Jervis spoke up, “one that comes back closer to the surface sometimes; you said it yourself, Jonathan.”

“See?” Harley pointed. “Hat Guy knows what I’m talkin’ about.”

“It’s Jervis,” he really thought they ought to get clear before this travesty continued any further.

Jonathan still looked highly doubtful, but, “I suppose I do want to have hope someone could do something even about him, as unconvinced as I am until I see the evidence for myself.”

“You will, Professah! You just gotta wait; my Puddin’ only just got his rec room privileges back so he only gets an hour.”

“I will happily wait, Child, if you never refer to him that way in my presence ever again.”

“What way?” While Jonathan simply sighed, “You get cartoons on that thing?” Harley pointed to the TV. “Where’s tha remote?” She was off searching before even waiting for one of her answers.

“I suppose we had best go look out for her,” Jervis mentioned, nodding to Two-Face also sat on the sofa currently watching his beloved Spanish courtroom dramas.

“My, you’re not the newbie anymore now,” Edward realised.

“Well, it’s about time,” Jervis huffed. “This is already my fourth time in here.”

After a heated argument that eventually compromised out, thanks to a lucky coin flip, that Harley could watch her cartoons as long as she turned the channel back during the adverts and for the verdict at the end of the trial, “You have had those injuries looked at by the doctors, haven’t you, Child?” Jonathan checked with a genuine hint of concern during the first advert break, looking over the bruises visible on her face and wrist.

“What?” Harley slowly tore her gaze away from trying to understand what was going on in Spanish. “Oh. Yeah. They looked me over; not much you can do ‘bout this though.” She pointed to bruising around one of her eyes which would just have to heal naturally.

“And mentally, with the adjustment to life on this side of the Plexiglas wall? How are you doing?”

She sat still, staring off into whatever space she was looking slightly downwards into for a moment, before putting on a beaming smile to reply, “Aw, it ain’t that bad, Professah! I realise now tha mad ones are tha ones who’re truly sane – I mean, just look at tha fact you’re over here too! It’s just like Mistah J says: Those idiots out there don’t know how ta have real fun!” She turned back to the small caged TV in the upper corner of the rec room, squinting and screwing up her face as she tried to make sense of the Spanish still coming out of it.

They were onto the conclusion of the trial, listening to the verdict – “I still can’t work out; is he on trial for arson or public indecency?” “I thought tha charge’s smugglin’ illegal vegetables inta Canada.” “No, no. It’s definitely for putting a horse in a wedding dress after Labor Day.” – when the door unlocked across the room behind them, letting in a very familiar laugh.

Harley was up like a shot, almost leaving a cartoon dust cloud in her former shape behind at the speed she flung herself around the sofa and at, “Mistah J!”

The three on the sofa turned around more slowly, leaning on the back to watch the interaction as Harley threw herself at the Joker only to be held back at a distance. “Jeez, Harls. Give a guy some space.”

While Harley rushed to apologise profusely, hovering around him for whatever scraps of attention she could get, “...Nope,” Edward announced on behalf of the group.

“Mmhm,” Jonathan agreed.

Jervis sighed. “Maybe one day I’ll learn to stop getting my hopes up regarding anything in here.”

“Don’t worry,” Edward counselled. “Give it a couple more months. It only took me about half a year.”

“Hello there, Ladies!” the Joker greeted them all cheerfully, standing above the other side of the sofa. In the background, grumbling to himself in Spanish, Two-Face changed the channel back to cartoons and left for a different part of the rec room. “And what are we up to this fine day?”

While they attempted to just say their phatic replies and shuffle off- “Oh, Puddin’! You’ll never guess but Professah Crane here was my teach back at uni!” Harley latched onto Jonathan, who wasn’t quick enough to get an arm in to hold her at a distance. “Ain’t it great us meetin’ up in here like this again?”

“Yeah, whatever you say.” The Joker was busier frowning at Jonathan. “You know my Harls, Spooky?”

“I was her student-teacher during her first year and my last at Gotham University,” he explained, finally pushing her back.

“You better not have been getting any ‘extra credit’ from her in return for better marks, if you know what I mean.”

Now Jonathan truly frowned as well. “I can assure you, though I have done many things, statutory rape is not on my list of charges.”

“Good,” the Joker sniffed. “That sort of thing’s not funny.” Well, at least he seemed serious about that. “Just thought you might have a thing for perky, petite blonds, that’s all, considering the things I see in that shared cell of yours.” He grinned at Jervis now, as they often caught him doing from his cell diagonally opposite theirs in the other direction to Edward’s.

“You get a shared cell, Professah?” Harley asked excitably, the rest seeming to go over her head. “No way! I want one! How’d you get ‘em ta give you one?”

“I’ll have a word with Dr. Leland about you, Harleen,” Jonathan assured her, standing up to leave.

The other two followed as quickly as they could, no desire to stay as the Joker settled in on the sofa and Harley tried to snuggle up the best she could. Back at their usual table, a little unenthused to make the best of the barely-surviving chess set, “As Machiavelli said it is better to rule with love than fear if possible, I suppose,” Edward commented, looking back at the two on the sofa.

While Jonathan tutted at any perceived slight to his darling fear, “She does seem to have been willing to put herself in the way of the Jabberwock’s fearsome teeth and claws for him,” Jervis noted of her injuries.

“It would be like him to put his partner in the way of injury to save himself,” Jonathan commented.

Edward rolled his eyes grandly. “Are you still not over that chair to the face-?”

“I suppose it’s a classic case of attraction to a noted felon, for all I still fail to understand said phenomenon,” Jonathan continued unfazed.

“Really?” Jervis leant forward, grinning to himself until Jonathan got his little bit of humour.

“Our relationship hardly counts, Jervis. That said, I do know I have a number of far too avid fans of that sort as well,” he said, turning Jervis’ smile into a petulant and jealous frown. “Although given Harley was his psychologist at the time, this seems more like a case of-”

“I said get off, you stupid bint!”

And then there was the sickening crack of the Joker’s fist connecting with Harley’s face.

~#~

“Men!” Pamela slammed her lunch tray down at one end of the table, taking a seat.

The three men looked to her, Edward opting to be the one who spoke: “Was that a call to action, or just a general insult?”

“Or a shopping list?” Jervis added quietly enough to stay safe.

“I’m going to grind that grinning, sadistic bastard down into mulch! I’m going to bury him alive and let my roses feast on his decaying flesh! I’m going to throw him into a pitcher plant and-!”

“For all we commend the general idea,” Jonathan interrupted, “perhaps we could formulate a more realistic plan for both separating the Joker from Harley _and_ assisting her with the emotional damage he’s inflicted upon her?”

Pamela scowled at him for daring to interrupt her, stabbing her fork down into soggy pasta and beans, but settled into a tacit if reluctant silence.

“Hey, all!” The four looked up at Harley walking by at the Joker’s heel, waving at them hard enough to make the Jell-O on her tray jiggle wildly.

“Harley,” Edward acknowledged her first for the table. “How are you doing?”

“She’s fine,” the Joker answered for her sharply. “Are you blind, Puzzle Boy- Well, that’d explain your fashion sense actually!” He took a moment to laugh, Harley joining in uneasily from obligation but obviously not getting the joke. Before Edward could launch into how infinitely better green and purple was than purple and green- “Well, lovely little chat! We really all must do this again sometime!” The Joker gave a, “Toodles!” and was off with Harley still at his heels to find his own seat.

All of them daring a brief glance over at where the pair sat down alone at their own table, Harley fawning over him oblivious to his indifference, “The Joker is one problem here,” Jonathan began. “But simply disposing of him, if we even could, will not help Harley as she will find a way to martyr him and be further able to idealise him once he becomes simply a memory and concept in her mind. If anything, her devotion may turn her forever against us if she were to ever know we were behind his disposal.”

“That’d be worth it,” Pamela muttered. “I don’t mind the idea of her hating me if the alternative is letting that asshole abuse her even one minute more.”

“I’ve never attempted to use my mind control cards on the Joker,” Jervis chipped in. “Although I can’t guarantee anything given the subject, I believe he ought to be still human enough for them to take effect.”

“I vote for that.” Pamela pointed across at Jervis. “As male a power fantasy as it’s based on being able to take complete control of anyone at will, in this-”

“Excuse me,” Jervis had to interrupt, “but how are my mind control cards any more than a technological version of the mind-controlling perfumes and toxins that you employ?”

Pamela’s mouth hung open a moment longer, before shutting with a scowl that wouldn’t admit it but, “Anyway,” she moved on awkwardly, “in this case I think it’d be worth it. Slap a card on him, get him to confess he doesn’t really love her and that he’s just using her as a willing servant and punching bag, and show Harley how he really feels about her.”

“Abuse victims who have been psychologically manipulated as Harleen has would be unresponsive to such attempts,” Jonathan declared. “Anything that conflicts with their viewpoint of the world is rejected; after a point they often become the one sustaining the fiction instead of their abuser.”

“So they don’t have to face reality, and the reality they’ve been abused,” Jervis said lowly, staring down into his meal he poked at with his fork. Jonathan raised a surprised and then slightly concerned eyebrow, but Jervis slipped back into his usual demeanour in an instant; “That’s how these things work, yes?”

“Yes,” Jonathan agreed, although with a side-note of hesitancy.

“Tch.” Pamela, who had reduced most of her salad to mush with her angry fork by this point, spoke up again, “He’s going to kill her before we get a chance to help her at this rate.”

“Different abuse victims react differently, Pamela,” Jonathan responded calmly. “Edward and I had to wait until we were strong enough to fight back against ours. Oswald suppressed and sublimated his abuse into anger problems it took willingly submitting to psychological therapy at Blackgate to overcome. Even you took time to-”

“Don’t you dare go there, Crane!” she snarled, fork stabbing into the side of Jonathan’s cheek.

He brushed it aside, also wiping the crushed beans off his face. “Different tactics are required in different cases. Harley is not you, even if your situations may feel similar on the surface. We need to find a way appropriate to her to help, particular to her personality and the abuse she is going through.” Jervis turned his fork loosely in his food, gaze lost elsewhere in thought. “I would suggest that first we attempt to-”

“What we doin’?” Harley dropped into the seat beside Pamela with a big clatter and an even bigger grin. “Anythin’ fun?”

Looking back at the table they thought she had been sitting at, “What happened to your... boyfriend?” Edward selected to call him.

“Oh, Mistah J had some, um, constructive criticism ‘bout the food today – I think it’s pretty good, personally – Staff didn’t appreciate it, jerks.”

“So they _jerked_ him back off to his cell?” Edward checked for their own safety.

Harley laughed a little at the pun. “Yeah, but he didn’t wanna eat it anyway so no biggie. I salvaged what I could, so I’ll give him some of my dinnah in return.”

Despite a momentary angry mashing of Pamela’s fork into her food again, “We were discussing household and decorating chores Jervis and I need to do when we are able to return to our hideout,” Jonathan began, earning incredulous looks all round aside from Harley’s rather excited one. “Do the two of you have any plans like that, Harley, now that you’re living together? Is the Joker interested in that sort of thing?”

“Mmm...” Harley twirled her finger in one pigtail. “Mistah J’s not really that type, which is kinda a shame – He’s got such great style so, ya know, if I could get him interested in sprucin’ up our ha-ha-hacienda a bit – But he’s gotta focus on his work. I guess he just wants ta leave all that stuff ta me; he can be kinda traditional like that!” She shrugged happily. “But hey! I didn’t know you an’ Jerv lived together; that some kinda safety arrangement to avoid tha Bat, or is it like a science thing so you can borrow each other’s test tubes?”

“No, we...” Jonathan looked across to his partner, who was currently busy lamenting both his new nickname and the fact he didn’t even use test tubes in his science, answering, “Jervis and I are... partners.”

“Like partners in crime?” she asked.

“No. Life partners.”

Since Harley continued to puzzle at that phrasing, “They’re banging,” Edward leant across and explained.

“Sexual intercourse is a very small part of our relationship, Edward, even if I know it’s all your ‘romantic’ life consists of,” Jonathan returned with a degree of sass that had Jervis chuckling gleefully.

Once Harley got over gaping open-mouthed, “You two are...?” She continued to stare and point though, brow furrowing. “No! I get what you’re doin’!” And she laughed. “Nice try, hazin’ tha new kid! I ain’t fallin’ for it though!” she declared firmly, sticking her tongue out.

Frowning similarly all round the table in return, “...No, I assure you, my dear, Jonathan and I really are romantically involved,” Jervis told her.

“We were not attempting to prank you, Child,” Jonathan confirmed.

When Harley looked to Pamela, “Mmhm,” she nodded as well.

Harley looked utterly as if life had all been so simple up until this moment, but now, “...But, you two aren’t, like... You two don’t fight nor nothin’. You jus’ seem like friends.”

“We are friends,” Jervis broke the news to her, if it needed to be, meeting her confused frown.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m sayin’! Couples are meant ta be all passion-ful and dramatic, like breakin’ up then gettin’ back together and havin’ hot make-up sex, or seemin’ like they hate each other but comin’ through at tha last moment when you realise how painful it’d be ta lose ‘em.” She sighed romantically, curling her fists under her chin to lean on.

The men of the table puzzling about how to take that, while Pamela silently groaned lamenting what Disney had done to a generation of young girls and their idea of romance, Jervis finally replied, “Well, I suppose we’re quite a boring couple then, by your standards. But it suits us just fine, more than fine really.”

Harley hummed, taking the two in. “You do kinda remind me of one of those old couples, I guess, like where all tha romance has gone but it’s kinda sweet ‘cause they just sit on benches at the park holdin’ hands. Yeah, that’s it!”

While Edward smirked at the ‘old’ couple, and they themselves simply accepted it with confused frowns at each other, “You don’t think a relationship should feature things like, oh I don’t know, respect? Open communication and affection from both sides? Stability and emotional support perhaps?” Pamela suggested to Harley beside her.

“That’s just, ya know, the trade-off for all the fire and fun; everything’s gotta have its cost in this world,” Harley nodded sagely.

Pamela let her face land in her palm just hard enough to be considered a proper face-palm. “God, if I had the chance to show you how a relationship could be...”

“Aw, if you’d gotten to me sooner maybe, Red!” Harley squirmed happily, unaware of everyone present staring and trying to figure out if that was an admission of bisexuality or not. “But I’m with Mistah J, and I’d never cheat on him or break up with him. Maybe if he, like, dies or somethin’... But I should stay true and live on as a widow in that case, shouldn’ I? If I really loved him,” she started to muse, sighing. “Relationships sure are hard. I never realised how hard my folks must’ve had to work at this too.”

Jervis raised one eyebrow. “Was your parents’ relationship similar to your present one, Ms. Quinn?”

After she was done chuckling and enjoying receiving such a polite and British vocative, “Uh-huh. A good, old American family, ya know?”

“Ah,” Jervis acknowledged, contemplative for a moment as he picked delicately at his food. Opening his mouth to reply-

“Can I ask you two somethin’?” Harley directed at him and Jonathan. “Eddie said you two are bangin’, right? How long did that take, ‘cause me an’ Mistah J have been together for... six weeks now and na-da. But this is my first proper adult relationship an’ all so I don’t know if, like... Is that normal?”

“Oh God...” Pamela said, although tempering it with some relief she supposed.

While Edward held up his hands to signal he was staying far clear, Jervis and Jonathan looked to each other in a mental game of rock-paper-scissors for who would be subjected to answering her. Eventually Jonathan rolled his eyes, supposing as her former mentor and all that, “As far as my knowledge extends sexual contact within an adult relationship slowly escalates over time in most cases. Jervis and I took a few weeks to kiss, then a few more to become comfortable with regular physical contact. Proper sexual contact took a few months,” he reported clinically.

“Ooh! We must be ahead of the curve then! Aw, no wonder Mistah J wants to take things slow; I must be pushin’ him,” she realised with a degree of horror at the prospect. “Thanks, fellas! I’ll cool it for a bit.”

“You mentioned your... beau is quite traditional, yes?” Jervis spoke up. “Given that, he might well wish to wait until marriage before engaging in such a way with you. Jonathan and I are not terribly traditional or concerned with such things, but in your case...” he trailed off, letting Harley’s thoughtful expression decide for itself.

Slowly it blossomed into a beaming grin. “Yeah, that’s a great point, Jerv! My Puddin’s such a romantic an’ all that; I bet he wants to save it and make it just right! I guess I’m a kinda modern girl; I gotta respect his differences though.” She nodded happily, digging into her meal with a new, giggling keenness.

Finished quicker than any of them, and after a protracted round of thanks again and goodbyes, Harley left the table first ready to return to her cell before rec time. The four left picked at what was still bearable on their now-cold trays, sighing uncomfortably and trying to put their mind to what could be done next.

“Saving herself for marriage to that creep...” Pamela stabbed at her nearly empty tray now.

“It seemed nicer to lie and save her from potential sexual abuse as well,” Jervis defended.

“Oh, I’m not disagreeing with that,” she said. “I may not like having to lie to Harley – I feel bad all we’re doing is manipulating her in the opposite direction – but the fact there are still men out there who are so concerned with treating women like their own personal broodmares that they want them to be blushing, naive virgins on their wedding night... And that there are women who go along with it...!”

“Well, a legal marriage is really off-the-cards until they’re pronounced sane, which with the Joker becomes a matter of never,” Jervis said. “I doubt it’ll stop her trying after enough time unsatisfied, or they’ll go in for one of those Vegas weddings you Americans seem so fond of and ignore legality...”

“Are you and Jonathan ever going to get married?” Edward had to ask, fork dangling from his fingers now he was done eating. “Same-sex marriages were legalised in this state last year. If you were declared sane there’s nothing stopping you; I could even fabricate the documents ready if you want.”

“Considering I haven’t paid tax for nine years due to being criminally insane,” Jonathan answered, “I hardly see the need, since that’s all marriage really means these days.”

“Visitation rights in hospital?” Edward said. “You can’t tell me that won’t be useful in our profession.”

Okay, Jonathan accepted that with a slight incline of his head.

“I believe it would also cause your great-grandmother to absolutely froth in her grave were you to marry another man, particularly an immigrant of colour,” Jervis offered.

Now that definitely swayed Jonathan, a delighted but cruel grin appearing on his face. “Perhaps we should get married; everyone _would_ absolutely hate it.” While Jervis rolled his eyes up affectionately at the particular motivation. “Well?”

“’”Well, this _is_ grand,” said Alice. “I never expected to be a queen so soon,”’” Jervis replied to that, beaming with amusement. It was Jonathan’s turn to be affectionately despairing now.

Edward and Pamela merely watched from the sidelines as the two continued, trading quotes and soft barbs in their unique way. “...I’ll kiss you if they’re not married, legally or otherwise, within five years,” Pamela said.

Edward laughed at that. “As much as I can imagine why you’d like to, I’d rather you kept your poisons to yourself, Pamela. They’ll certainly be married before any of us, I can tell you that.”

“Oh?”

“Considering I never plan to marry, I tell you what: If I ever get married you can be my... wedding planner? Is that the role women get so excited about?” Ignoring her death threat for the sexism. “How about that?”

“I’d return the offer if I ever get married but I dread to think what you’d come up with planning a wedding. Deal,” Pamela accepted, looking again to the couple bickering happily next to them over the lunch table. “Let’s just hope we all live long enough to see those days...” she finished with fond softness.

~#~

Never let it be said that even the Joker couldn’t learn from his mistakes: The next time he blew up one of the Asylum walls he managed to pick an external one and escaped through the hole to terrorise the city once again.

Left inside, watching his now empty cell from theirs, “You didn’t want to go with him?” Jervis asked.

“The guards are always more violent when the Joker is involved in a breakout,” Jonathan replied, lounging on their bed with his currently permitted book. “Besides, my current work can be continued in here; I have no need for my laboratory right now.”

“Yes...” Jervis agreed, trying to look down the corridor in the direction of Harley’s cell. He wouldn’t expect Jonathan to say as much, but he didn’t doubt Jonathan had a certain ulterior motive to staying behind this time as well.

Come group therapy day, a day that arrived a couple of days late given Arkham’s organisational issues and overstretching of staff, the hard feet of five plastic chairs scraped into a semi-circle around Dr. Leland at her request. “All right, everyone,” she began. “Sorry for the delay after that schedule mix-up-”

“We really didn’t mind missing this,” Edward offered on behalf of the group, leant back on just the back legs of his chair precariously already.

“But we’re here now. Does anyone want to go first?” She was met with a semi-circle of unimpressed silence. “All right, by force it is then.” Today the unpleasant finger of fate selected, “Jonathan?”

“What?” he flatly asked back.

“How has your mental health been lately?”

“Bored. Like the rest of me,” he replied shortly. “Your question and efforts would be better directed at Harleen than I.” He nodded his head round the circle to her.

Harley perked up from her moping, hands waving in front of her with weak cheer. “I’m fine! Got nothin’ to talk about either!”

“Well... okay then,” Dr. Leland accepted. “Pamela?”

“Nope,” Pamela declined. “Try asking Harley instead.”

“I’m fine, guys!” Harley insisted with a bit more mustered cheer this time.

Since she was apparently going to get nowhere otherwise, taking a guess from Jervis and Edward’s general demeanour, “How are you doing, Harley?”

“I keep tellin’ ya, I’m fine!” Harley maintained, huffing at the lack of belief in this circle of cheap chairs and bored faces.

“The others seem to think you have something worth discussing,” Dr. Leland persisted.

“Well... Yeah, I guess I’m kinda disappointed Mistah J didn’t have to time ta bust me out too when he left, but I know he would’a if he could’a so I don’t mind. I’m sure he’ll come back for me.” She shrugged. “If I seem down it’s only ‘cause it ain’t exactly a whole lotta fun in here, ya know?”

Dr. Leland looked to her patients, unprofessional as it may be; as if she really had any control over them, especially once they had some group plan in mind apparently.

“This is your first session with us in group therapy, Ms. Quinn, yes?” Jervis was the one who spoke up now, to which Harley happily assented. “Perhaps this would be a good opportunity for us to get to know you a little better.”

“Oh sure, yeah! What d’ya wanna know?”

“How about your family?” Jervis asked innocently enough. “What was your life like growing up?”

“Oh gee, well where to start?” she laughed gladly. “I’ve got an older brother – He’s some sorta Wall Street bigshot now; we ain’t really talked much since he went to college – My pops was a big business guy too. Mom was just a homemaker, ya know real traditional an’ all.”

“Extended family?” Dr. Leland prompted.

“Oh sure. Mainly on Dad’s side; we didn’t get ta see Mom’s family much.”

“Why not?”

Harley shrugged. “It weren’t like they were far nor nothin’. Dad and ‘em just didn’t really get on, I guess. My mom’s side of tha family’s Jewish but she stopped practisin’ after gettin’ with him; I think they fell out ‘cause of that or somethin’.”

“Was that by choice on her part?” Dr. Leland asked, leaning forward slightly now.

“Dunno,” Harley admitted. “Dad wanted us to go ta church, be proper American Christians like him an’ all that; we couldn’ really do that at the same time we were doin’ Jewish stuff, could we?” She frowned a little longer, before shrugging it off.

Pamela tutted and muttered, but declined to repeat it any louder for the group.

“How did you get on with each of your family members?”

“Well, my brother was like six years older so he never had time for me; he was always doin’ stuff anyway, sports mainly. Dad didn’t want me messin’ up his studies and trainin’ so I stayed outta his way mostly. Once he went off ta college though Dad started payin’ lots more attention to me!”

“How exactly?”

“Encouraging me at school, makin’ sure I got good grades an’ stuff. And he got me inta gymnastics, cheerleadin’ and other sports; wanted ta make sure I got into the best colleges an’ all that, get a successful career outta it ta make him proud.” She beamed.

“So how did you end up at Gotham University of all places?” Jonathan had to ask.

“I came here ‘cause of this place, the asylum; I always wanted ta work here one day! Even before you guys- well, us guys, this place had reputation!”

“Well, I suppose if you want America’s prime supply of crazies...” Jonathan supposed.

“And one British import,” Edward said, looking at Jervis who stuck his tongue out in return.

“Yes, if we could stay on topic, children,” Dr. Leland said. “What about your mother, Harley?”

“Mom was one of those really classic moms who was good at everythin’; she could cook or clean anything!” Harley exclaimed, once again completely oblivious, or ignoring, Pamela’s eye-rolling and noises of disgust. “She was real sweet and supportive. Never said a bad word or made a mistake. She was perfect.”

“You wanted to be like her when you grew up?” Jervis asked. Dr. Leland watched carefully, but like a judge she allowed it.

“Yuh-huh! Get a nice, well-payin’ an’ respectable job in my 20s, show a man what a catch I am and get a good one, then when I’m ready settle down an’ have tha kids!”

“And your father? He wanted you to be like her when you grew up?” Jervis asked over the sound of Pamela muttering again.

Harley looked unsure for the first time, and Dr. Leland watched even more closely just long enough to find out where this was going. “Well, yeah. Of course; Pops wanted me ta be a success and be able ta get a good man to look aftah me one day. All daddies want that for their daughters, don’t they?” she said, more cheerfully again. “I mean, he wanted me to quit my job once I get married so I could look aftah tha kids better, but I pointed out all those super career women these days and he said that was okay so long as I could manage it. So he let me study Psych.”

“‘Let’ you?” Dr. Leland followed up, glancing to Jervis who made no attempt to intervene.

“Yeah, he said psychiatry an’ stuff ain’t for women, that it’s too dangerous an’ scary dealin’ with crazies and if I wanna help people I oughta be a nurse. I ain’t so good with blood an’ all that medical mumbo though so’s I ended up with this.”

“Was he proud of you?” Jonathan was the one to ask this time.

“Oh yeah! Threw me a big party an’ everythin’!”

“What about now?”

Harley faltered, lacing her fingers together and turning them inside-out in front of her. “...I-I haven’ spoken to ‘em since all this. Dad’d probably be real mad, and then he’d take it out on Mom ‘cause I’m not there and I don’t want to...” she trailed off in a quiet voice, screwing her shoes into the floor.

Now Dr. Leland understood. “‘Take it out’ on your mother, Harley? What does that mean?”

Harley shrugged. “Ya know, like get mad.”

“Like shout at her?”

“Mm.” Harley nodded.

“Hit her?”

“Maybe. If he was real mad.”

Dr. Leland nodded, itching to make notes but more importantly she had to ask, “Did he ever hit you when he got mad, Harley?”

“Only if I deserved it,” she shrugged. “Like, ya know, if I messed somethin’ up like a big test or an important dinnah. Just for discipline, that’s all; he’s not _that_ kinda father, if that’s what you’re all thinkin’,” she accused hotly, huffing and sitting back in her chair.

Most of the circle sat back too, contemplative or just plain having heard enough.

Pamela though, sat right beside Harley, “Like when the Joker hits you now?”

“Yeah! Just like that!” Harley latched onto happily. “He only wants what’s best for me! But I’m a klutz an’ all sometimes, or I try an’ do stuff I shouldn’t ‘cause I should leave it to them since they know best- Hey!” she realised indignantly. “Are you tryin’ ta say I’ve got some kinda daddy issues and that’s why I like Mistah J?!”

“No. No we’re really not,” Dr. Leland assured her, all of them wishing they could get that thought out of their heads. “Sorry, we’ve been diving rather deep here, Harley. Why don’t we talk about something else? Your time at school, maybe?” she deflected safely.

The rest of the session passed in easy, unimportant school stories being traded back and forth until Dr. Leland had fulfilled her requirement of an hour of group therapy, for all the help it ever was.

When the guards came to collect the patients and lead them back to their cells at the end- “Oh, leave Dr. Crane and Mr. Tetch with me a moment, would you?” Dr. Leland asked. “I need to speak with them about their shared cell arrangement briefly.”

The chosen inmates raised slight eyebrows, while the guards just shrugged and happily accepted less work to do.

Once the doors were shut and the other patients, particularly Harley, were out of earshot, “Well, that all makes a lot more tragic, disgusting sense now. This goes a lot deeper than we believed,” Dr. Leland said of the closed door, before turning to the two left behind. “How did you work out her family situation was involved in all this?”

“She said that her parents’ relationship was similar to her current one, that it was very ‘traditional’,” Jervis mentioned. “I took a guess what that might mean. I was hoping my suspicions would be unfounded...” he admitted sadly.

Joan sighed. “Well, thank you in any case. As much as I’ve seen abuse victims believe and excuse some bad behaviour before, knowing she was already fragile even before the Joker got her helps explain a lot.”

“This won’t be easy to cure, Joan,” Jonathan said. “To break her free of the Joker she will also need to accept the way her father acted was abusive and wrong, that her mother and maybe brother were also victims as well as her having been a victim of abuse twice in her life. I doubt she will be very receptive to such a radical overhaul of her worldview any time soon.”

“Yes, it’ll be a long process, if we’re ever capable that is,” she agreed heavily.

“It’ll destroy her whole image of herself and her happiness, the poor queen...” Jervis mentioned distractedly, staring off at the door as well.

“’Queen’?” Dr. Leland picked up on. “Which role have you assigned her, Jervis?”

He blinked back to reality. “The White Queen?”

It was cute he almost sounded as if he was asking for permission. But klutzy, well-meaning and a bit in need of someone to help sort the mess she’d gotten into out; yes, Joan could see it. “Do you have any ideas for how to help her?”

“Hm?” Jonathan made a show of having not heard. “Did you just acknowledge my still perfectly serviceable psychologist credentials, doctor?”

Ignoring his personal spite, Dr. Leland-

“Abuse victims are just as much defending themself and their self-conception when they defend their abuser,” Jervis spoke up in that distant way again. “’”I don’t want to be anybody’s prisoner. I want to be a Queen.”’” When he eventually noticed the other two staring at him, verging on too perceptive for his liking, “I may not have the qualifications, still valid or otherwise, that the two of you have but I would say it’s safe to state we will get nowhere unless Ms. Quinn wishes to be helped and come to terms with the truth finally, yes?”

“We won’t be able to make full progress until she’s willing, yes,” Dr. Leland agreed.

“I imagine there may already be a few seeds of doubt deep within her somewhere,” he continued. “We simply have to help water and nourish those, or plant a few more. But we won’t be able to manage such things unless the Queen allows us into her garden so we can repaint her roses...” Once he noticed the stares this time, “I would recommend the best course in her particular situation to be playing along for the meanwhile, given I don’t believe we really have any other course available, and encouraging any doubts she ever offers freely.”

“It’s really not ideal,” she accepted. “I’d prefer if we could intervene much sooner...”

“Edward and Pamela will be willing to assist,” Jonathan said. “Pamela hated the Joker anyway, and she’s really out for blood now given her own past abuse. And Edward can be counted on now an abusive father is involved. The four of us can work it from a non-professional side as she’s likely to be very resistant to professional treatment and help for a long while.”

“Thank you,” Joan said. “I can’t think there’s much more we can do without your help at this stage.” She looked at the two rogues, admitting, “I know this is entirely unprofessional and so forth, but if you would?”

The two nodded. “Harleen was in my charge once before. And I have no desire to witness any continued abuse I can stop,” Jonathan assented.

“’”But really you should have a lady’s maid!”’” Jervis said, which she was going to assume was similar assent.

On their way back to the cells, watched over by only one very bored guard, “How long do you think this will take, Jonathan?” Jervis asked. “I should hope it isn’t long. She wouldn’t want to be late to Alice’s feast.”

“I can’t say either, Jervis,” Jonathan simply admitted. “Just hope that there’s hope.”

~#~

Time it did take.

Pamela repeatedly had to be reined back in, and went on the offensive against the Joker often anyway. But Harley became best friends with her and stayed that way even though Pamela would say such things; they had to hope that was something.

Edward offered nothing more than to play games with her, first within the Asylum whenever stuck together, then after finding out they finally had another gamer in the group to come join him and Jervis for video games sometimes on the outside. Sometimes, he said, that was what you needed most of all during abuse. That and, he didn’t say but was inferable anyway, the abuse could be too painful for him sometimes for personal reasons. To have friends and make social play dates with them, even defying the Joker’s wishes sometimes to attend, definitely seemed like something good; she’d have friends and something good in her life ready and waiting while they kept their hope that day would come.

Jonathan spoke with her many times, utilising the degree of authority he still retained in her mind to make cautious challenges where she led the way with doubts. Given her reluctance to challenge him back out of respect for her former professor, as long as the Joker didn’t find out about the things he was saying they appeared to stay with Harley whether she accepted them or not just yet. Though she’d sometimes put up a weak fight, like parent and child – For all Jonathan hated such a comparison – she listened at least to his words. What those words would do in the end, he could only keep trying and hope.

It took about three years for the cracks to begin to show in the end. Not just the volatile, hostile and temporary cracks of fights with slammed doors and shouting matches that were reconciled in the end, but true cracks. Like an open wound sending an immune system into overdrive, Harley appeared to believe more fiercely than ever when that time finally came. Everyone knew when she was trying to convince herself more than them with her words however.

Alone one rec time out in the yard, stood hopelessly by the fence watching the outside world for the Joker to come back for her so she could say to them all, “Ha! See! He does care ‘bout me!” Harley sighed as she ran her fingers over the tightly-twisted metal of the fence.

Stood back closer to one of the walls watching, “Is she waiting for him again?” Edward asked, last to join the group and rubbing his recently freed wrists.

“Uh-huh,” Pamela answered.

“Are we going to try and stop her?”

While Jonathan and Pamela launched into discussing what strategy to try, and Edward started pondering if he could get chalk off one of the guards to play hopscotch again, “...Let me,” Jervis finally said. “Give us a little time alone, please.” He walked away, trusting in the three left behind not to follow.

Harley didn’t notice as Jervis came to stand beside her at first, not until, “’”Just look along the road, and tell me if you can see either of them,”’” made her snap from her reverie with a small smile to realise her company.

She peered out past the fence more closely. “Either of who, Jerv? I don’t see nobody.”

“’”I only _wish_ I had such eyes,” the King remarked in a fretful tone. “To be able to see Nobody! And at that distance, too! Why, it’s as much as _I_ can do to see real people, by this light.”’”

Harley laughed now, turning away from the fence proper to him. “You really got tha whole things memorised, huh?”

“I almost would have thought you also do, my dear, the way you responded,” he parried back, settling into a seated position on the cement floor.

Harley sat with him on the warm ground, summer fading to autumn filling the patchy afternoon sunshine with a golden tint. Cross-legged and mostly facing each other, although easy for either to turn away back to the fence if necessary, Jervis watched her fidget her hands in her lap for a long moment; something was working its way out, and he could wait. “...You like fairytales an’ stuff too, right?” she eventually said. “Do it feel like you an’ Professah Crane are a fairytale romance?”

Jervis had to snort lightly at the very idea. “Hardly. While the March Hare and I may be very well-matched in our madness it’s not as if we don’t have our problems. Mainly individual ones we inflict upon each other, I should say. But nonetheless we are far from an idyllic couple, despite the generally positive time we appear to have.”

“...Do you think they exist, fairytale romances? Like soul mates an’ all that?” Harley dared ask, worming her finger into a hole in her grey inmate clothes.

He leant back, taking a deep breath for that one. “...I do,” Jervis finally admitted. “But did you ever find time to watch the end of that _Romeo and Juliet_ movie, Harley?” She shook her head. “ _Romeo and Juliet_ ends with Juliet feigning death when she must marry someone else, then Romeo finding her in such a state unknowing of the truth and taking his own life, only for Juliet to wake up and find him dead beside her which leads her to take her own life as well.” As much as he hurt to see how that had destroyed her image of the story, “Just because you are fated for one another I don’t believe it has to be a happy thing or end well, if that makes sense.”

Harley considered that for a moment, eventually nodding along that, “...Yeah. Yeah, that’s Mistah J an’ me; we were the only ones who could see through these silly divides of sane an’ not, and it’s probly gonna end bad for us too.”

“Romantic, isn’t it? The sort of love you’d die for,” Jervis offered.

“Mm!” Harley agreed readily.

Jervis leant forward now. “Do you think the Joker would die for you, Harley?”

Her beaming smile fell away, chewing on her lip at first instead as her hands went back to fidgeting. After a brief, “Well, I mean...” that went nowhere, the muted silence of her finger worming into that hole again said enough.

After putting the poor thing through enough torture of her own silence, “How are you doing, Harley?”

She continued to fidget, eventually switching to run a hand up one side of her neck and pull a lank ponytail forward around her neck in some weak comfort. “...I don’t know, Jerv. I don’t know how I’m doin’ these days...” she finished very quietly.

Jervis studied her further, taking on a compassionate smile as he leant on his own knees thoughtfully. “...You’re just like my father,” he finally said softly, looking away.

Harley simply looked suitably surprised and confused in question of that.

“These are things I haven’t even told Jonathan; secrets, you understand,” he told her first.

Though further confused why she was getting to hear them therefore, “Uh-huh. Don’t worry, Jerv, I take stuff like that seriously for my friends. Like with Selina’s thin’.”

“Which thing of the Duchess’?” Harley grinned, proving her point by the trap Jervis had fallen into. Smiling about it in good nature, “I mentioned in group once that my father left when I was 12, yes? It wasn’t such a simple matter of him simply upping and leaving; he was abused by my mother, both psychologically and physically sometimes.” Rather than let her get into pitying him and all that, “She psychologically manipulated, abused I suppose, myself as well after that point. It took many years, until I was able to get away to university, to see that however. Even when I realised it, it took the longest time to even admit it to myself. To realise you’ve been abused makes you feel like such a fool you don’t want to accept it, that such a thing could happen to someone like yourself. That you let yourself be played and manipulated, somehow missed what was so obvious to everyone else – Even helped sustain it with your actions sometimes – You fear all the jeering and mocking, those things you always heard but could dismiss back then; now you have to accept them without defences, that everyone gets to laugh at you for being such a fool. Or so it feels,” Jervis said, sitting back and staring up at the sky. “You’d rather just stay in Wonderland when you start thinking about all that...”

He looked at Harley long enough to see her sadly, very discreetly nodding as she only stared down at the grey cement beneath them.

Taking pity as he leant forward again, “Although it may contradict my message so far, you are welcome to stay in your own Wonderland, Harley, if that is what will make you truly happy; as a friend I only want you to be happy. Only you can decide what will make you truly happy though,” he left hanging, waiting for her response.

Almost still as a statue now, Harley only muttered after a long while, “You... You mind if I have some time alone, Jerv?”

“Of course.” He got to his feet, keeping an eye on her before looking away, “Oh dear; it looks like Jonathan and Pamela are at it again anyway,” and back to her once more before leaving her in the peace she needed right now.

~#~

Nearly three and a half years after joining the Joker, just before the Christmas of that year, the first anyone knew of it was an urgent alert from Edward to every phone on the rogues’ network to turn on their TV to the local news right now.

There, played on loop regularly in this world of 24-hour news with never quite enough news to fill it, was a clip of Harley shot on the front-facing camera of her phone in a dark, non-descript location. It wasn’t long. All she had to say was:

“I know you’re all goin’ ta laugh, that you’ve all always been laughin’ at me for gettin’ taken in by Tha Joker. So go on an’ laugh; I don’t care. I’m gonna be tha one laughin’ by the end of tha night, when I finally manage ta do what even Batman never could.”

The news anchors were wildly speculating it sounded as if she was going to kill him, to boost their show’s ratings. Pundits were estimating it was part of some calculated scheme by the Joker himself she was merely playing along in. The rogues network were all asking each other if anyone knew anything but no one did; the only thing they did know was Harley’s location via her phone.

The local news must have been given more details even her friends weren’t privy to given the massive media presence, and subsequent crowd it had gathered, around Gotham central plaza by the time they arrived. Although they had good seats from the rooftop of an apartment building opposite thanks to Edward’s lock-picking skills, “Is that Harleen over there?” Jonathan asked, squinting through the darkly clouded night across at the roof of town hall and one lone figure stood atop in its shadows.

“Her phone location would say yes,” Edward answered, activating his glasses’ in-built cameras with a touch to one arm, sliding his finger along it to zoom in and verify, “It’s her.” A couple more touches, “I’ve switched to infrared; I can’t see anyone else on the roof but things get pretty unclear at this distance with my glasses.”

“I’m not seeing anyone else on infrared either.” Everyone jumped at the sudden sound of Batman’s voice behind them, crouched on a high part of the apartment building’s roof looking through his batnoculars or whatever ridiculous thing they were called. “Do you know what she’s doing? Is this some plan of the Joker’s?”

“We have no idea either,” Pamela answered. “Hopefully she’s seen sense and is doing away with him for good, and if that’s her plan you had better bet I’m going to stop you interfering with it.”

“She seems to have come to some terms with her abuse finally this past half a year,” Jonathan mentioned more levelly. “She may well have meant her words that this is the time she will break free from his abusive hold. After everything she has suffered, both at his hands and previously from her father, I can imagine she has a need for a grand gesture to emotionally express the change she is about to undergo, a dividing point between that stage of her life and her next one. If the gesture is significant enough it will assist with resisting sliding back into those old patterns.”

“Sounds good to me,” Pamela started. “I can’t wait to see that no-good clown-”

“Speak of the devil,” Batman interrupted, Edward refocusing his glasses on the scene on the other rooftop and being jostled to share what he was seeing. “The Joker is up on the roof with her,” Batman commentated for them, probably to shut the bickering rogues up so he could concentrate. “They appear to be talking.”

“Well?” Edward asked. “Don’t you have some big, bat-shaped ears so you can hear what they’re saying?”

Batman shushed him, turning away and covering his lower face in an unsuccessful attempt to muffle him speaking into his suit’s communicator. “Oracle, can you get me audio?”

“Oracle?” Edward perked up. “Ooh!” He slipped out his phone, only needing to tap into his self-made _Cryptogram_ app and then a special symbol on his screen the other rogues didn’t recognise to bring up a waveform of sound. “Hello, my dear!” he interrupted whatever she had been replying to Batman before. “It’s been, what? A couple of months? How have you been?”

Batman dropped his attempts to muffle his intercom, presumably hearing Edward’s voice in there as well now. “The Riddler has access to our communications network?” he asked distastefully.

“He’s only in mine, don’t worry,” Oracle explained from the phone, waveform on the screen wobbling with her words. “It stops him causing me endless trouble trying to hack me if I just let him in; he only ever wants to chat, Batman.”

Edward smiled, immensely enjoying himself apparently.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” she continued, “there’s nothing on the roof to pick up their conversation. The police have someone down on the ground with listening equipment but it doesn’t transmit a signal itself so I can’t get you into it. Unless they broadcast anything I can pick up it just can’t be done.”

“Didn’t you say he has some sort of Bat-drone?” Edward asked. “Couldn’t he send that over with a microphone?”

“He knows what equipment we have?” Batman asked, even less impressed.

“He’s got a good idea, Batman; use your Bat-drone,” Oracle said, completely ignoring the other, arguably bigger, issue.

Sighing the sort of sigh a parent did when they needed to have a certain conversation later, Batman fiddled on his belt and pulled off a small, phone-sized black block. Attaching something even tinier that must have been a microphone, he used a small hand-held joystick to float it up into the air and send it off across the gap between here and the town hall roof.

“Nifty,” Jervis complimented.

Pamela snorted lightly. “You are ridiculously British.”

“So the whole gang’s there then?” Oracle asked over the phone, obviously having to wait for Batman as well, not that he was much of a conversationalist anyway.

“Just the two gay elves and the treant,” Edward replied.

While Pamela went off at him, “Elves?” Jonathan asked, having sunk to a whole new level of insulted.

“Well, I suppose I’m the traditional short sort,” Jervis said. “While you’re more of a _Lord of the Rings_ type?”

“Quiet!” Batman hissed at the squabbling children. “I’m nearly into-” A gunshot from across at town hall drew everyone’s attention.

“What happened?” Oracle asked, the only one without sight.

“The Joker shot into the air,” Edward announced. “He shot your Bat-drone, didn’t he?”

Batman sulked broodingly, slipping his joystick away with a petulance that had the rogues smirking and trying not to snigger.

While Oracle sighed, relating what the police who had picked up the shot drone were saying and doing, everyone on the roof simply watched as the gun was now turned at Harley. She had her trusty over-sized mallet in hand, looking as if she was advancing on the Joker despite the weapon imbalance. As Edward said, “She surely isn’t dumb enough to-”

“She’s dumb enough to,” Pamela confirmed as Harley leapt forward, mallet swinging and further gunshots now fired in her direction. “Idiot...”

“She is likely to get herself killed,” Jonathan admitted.

“Oh, I hope that’s not her plan to end all this,” Jervis worried, rubbing his mittened hands together in consternation.

From this distance a rather cartoonish fight scene ensued as the two distant figures chased each other around the rooftop with their weapons, either really going at it or else putting on one hell of a show for the benefit of the audience.

Harley chased the Joker round one of the raised, decorative statues on the rooftop when he needed to reload his gun, presumably. While he was still fiddling his new ammo in, she was dumb enough to try climbing over the statue. Though the move was an utter failure in and of itself, she fell off at the precisely lucky moment to fall onto the Joker and collapse them both to the rooftop - Well, it could have deliberate but since this was Harley they were guessing it wasn’t.

She stood back up after a moment. He didn’t, however.

“Did she get him?” Jonathan asked, turning to the two with slightly better sight.

“I can’t see him trying to get up,” Edward confirmed. “I think her mallet hit his head when she fell on him.”

“Oh good,” Jervis said. As Harley appeared to crouch down beside his body, “What’s she doing?”

Edward hummed, trying to figure out for himself. “She has something... what is that? Something shiny by the looks of it, like-”

“She’s got a knife!” Batman announced, swishing his cape out as he leapt down to run forward at the scene.

But, “Oh no!” vines shot out from inside the pockets of Pamela’s hoodie to tangle first around one wrist then around his chest, causing Batman to stumble forward to his knees. “You’re really going to save _him_?”

“I don’t like people killing,” Batman defended, reaching with his free hand to his belt. “You know that- Ah!” He gasped as a sharp heel jabbed into that free hand.

“This is necessary for Harleen’s sake,” Jonathan said, stood tall above Batman. “If you say you wish to prevent death then this will prevent hers by him one day; you know that.”

“You can’t guarantee that, Crane,” Batman spat back, undeterred as he pulled something from his utility belt with his injured hand.

“God, you really are in love with him or something, aren’t you?” Pamela mocked, having walked close enough to send out another smaller vine from her pocket.

Batman swung his batarang up with precision to cut it short, slicing through the one on his other arm in the process. With that freed, and having taken hold of his grapple during the conversation, Batman swung it up ready to fire and break free from-

“Oh dear,” Jervis said, considering the Caped Crusader’s cowl and the 10/6 card he had forced up under the front of the fabric while Batman was distracted by the other two. “If you wouldn’t mind being a little more civil, yes? ‘”But perhaps he can’t help it,” she said to herself; “his eyes are so _very_ nearly at the top of his head.”’” He gave the card a good tap, checking it wouldn’t come loose.

Jonathan leant down, waving a hand before Batman’s face. Pamela withdrew her vines cautiously once verifying a lack of response.

Over on lookout duty still, with nothing to report yet, “Not going to do anything to help your Bat, my dear?” Edward asked to his phone. Oracle only responded with silence. “Still sore about your spine, perhaps?”

“...What’s she doing, Edward?” she asked in the end. “Did she stab him?”

“Mmm... I think so. It’s a little hard to tell. She certainly used the knife on him in some way,” he described, as Jonathan and Pamela came to stand closer while Jervis was having Batman put all his toys away and sit more politely to watch the show like a good, little boy. “She’s really stabbing him thoroughly if that’s what she’s doing.”

“Good,” Pamela said simply, pulling the hood of her jacket in closer as a particularly cold wind cut past on the rooftop.

“His body temperature hasn’t decreased at all,” Edward commented though, tapping his glasses arm to switch modes. “Don’t you think if he was dead in this sort of weather he’d be starting to cool down a bit at the edges?”

“What else would she be doing?” Jonathan asked.

“Some sort of scar-tattoo?” Jervis suggested as he joined the group beside his partner, shrugging.

“Well, it looks as if she’s done now,” Edward announced, switching back modes to maximum zoom. “I don’t see any blood on her, but it’s hard to tell in this light.” The others looked between him and the scene across on the other rooftop as he continued, “Oh, she has something else with her- It looks like rope. She appears to be tying it around him.”

“Around his neck?” Pamela asked.

“I think feet, or one at least- Oh, I think he’s conscious again; I see him moving around. Well, that’s a shame; he’s not dead after all. She’s dragging him towards the edge now.” Everyone turned their attention to the scene itself, hearing the buzz in the crowd below begin to grow as well as they also noticed. Harley appeared to be tying the other end of the shortish rope around the central statue above the town hall’s main entrance, then began tugging his slightly struggling body towards that edge of the roof. With one final, grand push the Joker went tumbling over the front edge of Gotham Town Hall to hang from a few metres of rope by one foot. His clothes though, in knife-torn pieces, fell further all the way to the floor below. “...That acid really did get everywhere,” Edward commented with a slightly nauseated edge, removing his glasses given they weren’t necessary even at this distance to see that very white ass.

For all they could see the Joker screaming and yelling at Harley across the way, wriggling like a hooked fish on the line, nothing could be heard though above the sound of every citizen down in the crowd laughing, above every citizen of Gotham watching at home laughing along too probably.

Harley was simply laughing it up and clowning around above him, gleeful and free, as Batman walked forward and handed the card back to Jervis as instructed before groaning as wilful movement returned to his body. “What Batman could never do,” Jonathan began, considering the scene. “To kill the Joker wouldn’t constitute defeat, as he’s often said. But to have the whole city, even world when this footage gets out, laugh at him...” He couldn’t resist a proud smile. “She thought this through; she really means it.”

“He’ll certainly never take her back now,” Jervis added.

“And they’ll all be too busy mocking him to mock her,” Edward rounded off.

“She did it,” Pamela simply said. “She really did it...”

The other rogues turned to her, the opportunity now presented and all that; “Going to make your move?” Edward asked, a hint of delicious teasing on top of genuine interest for his friends.

But she simply shook her head. “I arranged for Harley to stay at Selina’s for a while. I don’t want her to rebound straight into another relationship; I want to see that beautiful, independent woman that’s always been waiting to finally bloom first. That’s the person I want to be with.”

Edward simply hummed in further interest at that, returning to watch the scene across the rooftops as Harley pulled a final few faces and raspberries for good luck. “...Going to go cut him down?” he asked to Batman.

“I think he can _hang on_ a bit longer,” Batman replied, small smirk playing on his features and voice.

“How do you think she’ll do now?” Jervis asked, as they watched Harley walk away from the Joker with a single backwards hand tossed up in goodbye for three and a half years of hell.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Jonathan said as the group, along with the whole city below, stood and watched.

~#~

“All right. Did everyone finish filling out their character sheets?” Edward asked, placing his on the table.

“Yep!” Harley slapped hers down.

“I don’t appreciate the wastage of paper on this, but yes,” Pamela also set hers down.

“No,” Jonathan sat resolutely, arms still folded.

“I did Jonathan’s for him,” Jervis flicked his hand, urging his partner to stop being such a muddy stick and put it on the table with the others already. “Thank you.” Jervis collected them up, checking through each briefly before they could begin.

“Before we get started I want you all ta sign this,” Harley produced another sheet of paper, this one scribbled out in a biro with fancy letterhead-like drawings done in the same at the top. “If this turns out to be real funny ‘stead of a total train wreck I want tha rights to put it on my Twitch channel an’ rake in tha big stuff. But I won’t be able ta do that if you’re all suin’ me.”

“So you want us to sign away our rights to our portion of the money?” Pamela put plainly.

“Who on Earth is going to want to waste precious time watching the lot of us play this ridiculous _Lord of the Rings_ improv comedy that isn’t even related to Satanism in the end?” Jonathan asked, pointedly scowling at Jervis.

Jervis looked up from Pamela’s character sheet to blasély mention, “I thought it would get Jonathan more interested if I told him about the moral panic it caused amongst Christians back in the 80s,” before returning to his reading.

“So you did make sure Jervis isn’t going to be making this too _Wonderland_ , right?” Pamela checked with Edward.

“I did my best,” he replied, shrugging.

“Oh shush,” Jervis tutted. “You said you wanted a spin on the normal style and decided I’d be best game master without my even having thrown my proverbial or real hat into the ring. You reap what you sow.” He finally set down the character sheet, sliding them back to each relevant party. “Although I’m starting to think I ought to have gone with the _Wizard of Oz_ instead,” he said, nodding in turn to, “considering we have a Dorothy with a couple of hyena Totos, a red-maned lioness, a nerd and a literal scarecrow.”

As the table kicked off about Jonathan having warned Jervis about the _Wizard of Oz_ references, Harley squealing over dressing Bud and Lou up as Toto and Edward asking how a nerd was even equivalent to a tin man-

“Good Lord!” They all fell silent, turning to listen, “How are you five managing to make more racket than every other table in here combined?!” as Oswald admonished the lot of them.

“Oh look; the wizard’s here too,” Jervis decided to push his luck, getting a frown that suspected what he was referring to and it was no more appreciated than it had been by Jonathan.

“What are you all even doing?” Oswald had to ask, looking upon the paper sheets and notepad Jervis had. “I’ll remind you I have no problem with _business deals_ being made here but anything criminal you’ll have to take elsewhere.”

Edward simply held up some of his green and purple D20 dice between his fingers. “We’re playing _Dungeons and Dragons_.”

“...What?”

“New tradition,” Pamela explained. “Harley dragged me into it. Jervis dragged Jonathan into it.”

Jervis explained, “It’s a game where you-”

“Yes,” Oswald held up a hand, “I know what _Dungeons and Dragons_ is.”

“Really?” Edward asked.

“I know I may not give the archetypal appearance because I care for good food, clothing and social company now but my adolescent alienation tacitly relegated me to nerdhood as well,” Oswald said, feeling he had earned a mild frown at their assumptions. “I spent much of my childhood watching _Star Trek_ and _Doctor Who_ , you know.”

“Wow!” Harley laughed. “Nerd-bird!”

Pamela chuckled too. “Oh, I like that; I think we have a new nickname for you, Ozzie.”

Oswald sighed. “On second thoughts I take it back...”

“Want to join us?” Jervis offered, clapping his fingertips in that way of his that signalled he was truly happy at the prospect. “They wanted me to play game master and put a spin on the classic formula, and I have decades of _Alice_ -based fanfiction I’ve never had anyone to inflict on before to draw inspiration from.”

“I brought a spare character sheet in case Harley ate hers or something,” Edward said, pulling it out as Harley objected to his assumptions; just because she was sometimes hyperactive-

“You’re never going to cease pestering me unless I agree, are you?” Oswald could tell.

“Not now we know peer pressure like that apparently works on you, no,” Edward answered.

“If I have to be subjected to this the least you can do is suffer it with me,” Jonathan added.

“I’m gonna stream it on tha internet an’ rake it in!” Harley enthused. “Everyone’s gonna wanna watch Arkham’s real-life rogues playin’ _D &D_ together! You just gotta sign this little form first, nothin’ important...” she slid it towards him nice and casual with the biro it was probably written with, twiddling her thumbs innocently.

The Penguin took one look at such a contract, “Nice try, my dear,” and slid it back- “Wait, some of these sentences simply say ‘Insert legal blah-blah stuff here’ in the middle,” he even noted.

Harley snatched the contract back. “I was in a rush!” she insisted with offence.

The character sheet in Edward’s hand rustled as he wiggled it temptingly, a much nicer pen in the other.

“Come on, Ozzie!” Harley insisted. “There’s room, if you don’t mind sittin’ nice an’ close to Eddie.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him too.

“I don’t know why you insist on trying to pair up Edward and I-”

“Well, you’re tha only two still single- ‘cept ‘Lina, but she’s happier that way, and Harvey’s but he’s still kinda hung up on some stuff.”

“-simply because you and Pamela are now an item-”

“I was thinking,” Jervis spoke up; “since Pamela is more flora than fauna, rather than fornication they’re engaging in _floracation_ ,” simply to make Jonathan snort and shake his head at the bad joke.

“-but considering I don’t like to consider what I’d be exposed to seating myself with either of the couples,” He walked off to find himself a chair to fit into the gap between Edward and Jonathan.

Harley fist-pumped one arm up into the air in triumph, settling against Pamela who had an arm waiting to put round her. Edward scratched at one cheek awkwardly, noting Jonathan’s raised eyebrow of encouragement and scowling back. Jervis simply sat back, short legs able to rest on the table edge if he tilted his chair, and took a pen to his scenarios to adjust for a new player.

When Oswald returned, while Edward was introducing him to Jervis’ mutation of the standard class system – “Why do I have to be the team’s tank-build?” “Well, because you’re... you know.” “Because I’m _what_ , Edward?” – and Jonathan was checking on the introduction of a new player to Jervis’ scenarios – “It’s perfectly fine; I had already prepared most of them for that possibility after your sister said she wanted to join us when she moves here.” “Claire’s also going to be forcing me to play this ridiculous DIY video game?” “She has her character sheet all set; she’s going to play as a knave, or an assassin in more common parlance.” – Pamela simply turned to Harley nuzzled up to her. “How are you doing, Harley?”

“Just fine, Red. I’m doing just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part concerning Jervis' father comes before my other Hattercrow fic '[Monkeys Made of Gingerbread](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307285)' where he finally does tell Jonathan. More is explained there, but at the same time this chapter adds a little of Jervis' side and feelings he didn't share there.
> 
> The final part is set in the gap after that fic in the summer just before '[No Smoke Without Fire?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922989)' starts to explain the attempts to set Oswald and Edward up - Harley saw it coming before _Gotham_ went there.


	15. A Very Merry Un-Unbirthday To You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the final chapter, so maybe it's a nice and ridiculously late time to finally get around to telling you all the title of this whole story comes from a lyric in ‘[The Township of King](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LOtsU9lO0Zw)’ by Barenaked Ladies. I didn't actually remember where I'd heard the line when I first used it for this story, only realising half a dozen chapters in. It's not a particularly relationship-y song, but it does perhaps fittingly harken back to the conversation that first began their relationship and the sort of place they both grew up in, plus just has a tone/style that fits their whimsical, old-fashioned and wistful relationship built on nursery rhymes and children's stories. Give it a listen towards the end of this chapter maybe to set an appropriate tone.
> 
> This chapter takes place the same year Jervis first became a rogue, about half a year later; everything that happened with Harley at the end of the last chapter and other future pieces in this fic are still yet to happen.

The 10th of September; until the day itself Jervis didn’t even mention it, but he supposed Jonathan had heard from Edward’s encyclopaedic knowledge or a stolen patient file when he announced casually over lunch, “You know, it’s my birthday today,” and Jonathan replied:

“I’m aware. You’re having a birthday party at the Iceberg Lounge tonight.”

“I am?” Jervis almost chirruped like some sort of surprised rodent, causing Jonathan to smirk a little. “’”I’m glad they’ve come without waiting to be asked,” she thought; “I should never have known who were the right people to invite!”’”

“I took a guess the ‘right people’ was anyone currently out of Arkham who was more likely to give you a present than a bullet in the head,” Jonathan responded, which Jervis acknowledged as a pretty good guest list. “That doesn’t amount to many, but Oswald said as it’s Monday night he would close the Lounge for the night for us to give his staff a day off.”

“Closed just for... me? For my birthday party?” Jervis boggled at the very idea of that, sitting up rather primly in thought as Jonathan continued lackadaisically slurping up spaghetti. “...They all wanted to come?”

“We’ve never had a party together before,” Jonathan shrugged. “Oswald seemed to want to see everyone again now he’s out of the criminal game and has a place to host us, and Harleen was very excited by the prospect of us all spending time together for some reason; the two of them encouraged everyone else, although people like Selina and Victor were already quite inclined from what I can tell.”

“Did you organise this, Jonathan?”

Jonathan scratched at the side of his face, smearing bolognaise sauce over his hand in the process. “You seemed happy befriending all of the other rogues, as if you’d always been waiting to have friends like this,” he said, noticing the sauce and licking it off his hand like a cat. “Between you and Harleen, the two of you seem to have ameliorated our group into one of friendship now, quite remarkably.” He made a small, dismissive-sounding noise that was actually a rather incredulous little laugh.

“Have I?” Jervis dared to ask, just as disbelieving himself.

Returning to eating, the strands of spaghetti tangled around Jonathan’s fork continued turning for a moment as he considered them. “...You know, when you first came into the rec room at Arkham I thought at first you wouldn’t even last the hour. But instead by the end of that hour, after only that very first conversation of ours, I realised you were someone who was destined to become a rogue one day, Jervis,” Jonathan said, gaze flicking up to the man across from him. “People could have said you were too mad to be afraid of me, to be intimidated by the Riddler asking you riddles or understand the gravity of the situation you were in with the others there. But one of the very first things you said was, “We’re all mad here.” You weren’t scared because you already spoke our language, were already like us; we weren’t the unknown to you. You seemed, in that very first time we met, as if you were finally coming home.”

Jervis sat with that for a moment, giving it the weight it deserved – As Jonathan went back to noisily cramming too much spaghetti in his mouth and slurping it to ruin the mood – as he stared into the cup of tea sat in place of a reasonable drink to be having with a spaghetti lunch. “...I was,” Jervis finally admitted, breaking into an almost tearful chuckle. “God, what does that say about me?”

“That by luck or design you ended up in Gotham to make the best of that,” Jonathan responded, leaning across the table with his fork.

Jervis stabbed his own fork down into Jonathan’s hand warningly, “Bloody hell, I’m having a moment here, Jonathan; stop trying to steal my food.”

“You’re letting it get cold and I’m still hungry.”

“It’s my birthday!”

“Congratulations. You’re one number closer to the one you will be when you die,” Jonathan dead-panned back.

Tutting and rolling his eyes, muttering about ruined moments, Jervis ate up his lunch before it could be further pilfered while Jonathan busied off into the kitchen cupboards to supplement his lunch with an obnoxious amount of crackers.

~#~

They arrived perhaps a little eagerly, only Oswald and Harley there yet, but everyone trickled in with time; it was a pretty early start anyway at 6:30, but all of them agreed they didn’t want to be out on the streets late at night in this city- “Wait, ain’t we tha reason you don’t wanna be out on tha streets in this city?” Harley puzzled. “Oh wow! I ain’t evah been part of the broken windows effect before!”

“Just don’t break any windows in here, if you would Ms. Quinn, yes?” Oswald replied warily to their newest member. “You did say your beau isn’t attending our modest merrymaking tonight, correct?”

She laughed. “You sound just like Jerv! But then again England’s, like, so small I bet you’s two grew up on the same street or somethin’!” The Brits shared a look, but let her have her fun. “Yeah, Professah Crane said Mistah J would just end up stealin’ the party’s limelight from Jerv, which is true. I just told him I was goin’ out for supplies; he’s so busy with his next plot for tha Bat he didn’ even notice though.”

While everyone else sighed with relief for small mercies, and Harley ran off again to gush about the penguins taking a swim, the others took a more adult seat at the large table for such gatherings that Oswald had laid out with party basics leftover from last night’s snack bar – “I’m losing a night’s revenue for this, not that I truly mind for the felicitations of a friend; you’re certainly not getting anything fresh.” – to make polite conversation about current projects, upcoming crimes, “Don’t you think it’s rather silly to rely on the Batsignal to call Batman – What do they do if there’s a power outage?” and the latest news from Metropolis until-

“Present time!” Harley suddenly returned to the table with quite a bang, having slammed her hastily wrapped, rainbow-abomination down. She gave it a rather worried look, “Oops. Hope I didn’t break nothin’,” before grinning and sliding it across to Jervis anyway. “Open mine first! I stole it just fa you!”

Briefly chuckling, while Harley mentioned to Selina and Pamela how excited she was to have managed to steal it successfully given how new she was to this whole criminal thing, Jervis picked his way around the medium-sized box until he could even find a seam on it, “How _did_ she manage to wrap it diagonally...?” and begin peeling off the multiple layers of wrapping paper.

Once the paper was off, and the ribbon underneath was cut – “I thought the ribbon went on the _outside_ of the paper.” “Oh shush; it’s the enthusiasm that counts.” – Jervis took out from the cardboard box left a handful of chess pieces. Each was a Lewis Carroll character, white and red, hand-carved by the look of it. “...Wh-Where did you get this, Harley?” he flustered, incredulous with joy.

“Some antique shop; had ta go round a whole bunch before I found somethin’ worth stealin’.” She shrugged, grinning happily and waiting for his response as he pulled out more until he found the Mad Hatter and March Hare ones, showing them off to Jonathan. “You don’t already got one, do ya?”

“W-Well, we have a chess set but nothing this frabjous!” Still stunned, he admired the pieces a moment longer before setting them back in the box and coming round to give her a hug that had her giggling. “Oh, it’s just perfect! We’ll play with it first thing in the morning, won’t we, Jonathan?”

“...Hm?” Jonathan practically grunted after a moment, not looking up from his book.

“Jeez, Professah!” Harley berated.

“I can’t believe you’re reading,” Edward joined in. “How terrible can you be at parties- Wait, is that Terry Pratchett?”

Jonathan held up the cover of _Mort_ more clearly. “I finally got around to reading _Snuff_ but Death wasn’t in it, to my surprise and disappointment.”

“I did think that was a bit conventional-use-of-ironic,” Edward agreed. “And why am I not surprised you like Death best?” Jonathan simply grinned, returning to his book. “Where’s your present for Jervis? You didn’t even get your own boyfriend a present. Why am I not surprised about that either?”

“This party is my present to him,” Jonathan replied.

“One I did most of the work for,” Oswald came in on Edward’s side with this. “I even have a gateau gestating in the galley I prepared earlier,” he mentioned, pointing off to the kitchen, then catching Harley before she ran off to get it already.

“Well, _I_ got your boyfriend a present,” Edward taunted to Jonathan, who simply turned the page unfazed. He pulled out a very small, rather thin wrapped present, wiggling it a bit for attention, before tutting and settling just for handing it across to Jervis.

“You should have pointed out its resemblance to a severed finger, Dormouse,” Jervis advised, nodding as Jonathan glanced up briefly. A simply feel of the present deduced, “Is it a memory stick?” and an unwrapping revealed, “It is a memory stick.”

“Since _Portal 2’s_ co-op mode was so woefully easy – One of the ‘greatest video games of all time’, please – the only way I could make it challenging for myself was to write an AI to play it with me,” Edward started going off on one. “Therefore I resurrected one of my old video game ideas for a much more stimulating co-op game and finished it off, now we live in an era where it isn’t necessary to use such primitive technology as a LAN connection and I have someone to play with who isn’t so useless as to completely ruin the whole experience for me.” He nodded that presumably said game was on the stick for Jervis.

“Won’t it be rather easy, playing with the game’s designer?” Jervis enquired, bemusedly inspecting the plain memory stick before pocketing it safely. “I’m presuming if you created it that it’s a puzzle game.”

“It procedurally generates puzzles, including a self-educating AI to help it develop even better puzzles based on how the players solve them; I’m currently working on plans to create a real-life version to see how good the Bat and his bird-brained-boy really are against a literally endless stream of self-improving puzzles.”

“Gift-wrapped less-than-subtle narcissism aside,” Selina interrupted, pulling out her own rather floppy present wrapped in cat-themed paper.

“’”Here! You may nurse it a bit, if you like!” the Duchess said to Alice, flinging the baby at her as she spoke,’” Jervis said, gesturing he was ready to catch. She pitched as asked, “’Alice caught the baby with some difficultly,’” and he caught it easily despite his words, unwrapping it to reveal, “‘as it was a queer-shaped little creature,’” a sky blue shirt and very short shorts with a white waistcoat.

“’Queer’ is right,” Pamela noted.

As Jervis held the waistcoat up, proving it was quite long at the front and a bit pinafore-like, “Indeed,” Edward agreed.

“You don’t want something nice to dress up in?” Selina teased, admiring her choice against him.

After considering it himself a moment longer, “Oh no, it’s not that, Duchess,” Jervis said, laying it down on the table edge carefully; “it’s simply that I already have an Alice dress and pinafore for when I’m feeling feminine. But this is wonderful for the days I feel a little more masculine. Thank you so very much, Duchess!”

While Selina tried to work out if that had backfired or not, and everyone begged Jonathan for the details on that one, Jervis moved onto one of the other presents that had already been placed upon the table. Pamela’s gift was an upright cylinder, the top part crushing in his hand as he tried to take hold unlike the very hard bottom half.

“...Is there any chance it’s not a plant?” Jervis asked dubiously.

“Mmm... No.” Well, at least she was honest. “You always need more plants,” Pamela defended.

Jervis had unwrapped its loose paper by that point, revealing a rather mature Venus flytrap. Most rogues present proceeded in the expectably child-like way to stick a finger into one of its mouths curiously, with differing levels of caution depending on past interactions and knowledge, until Pamela scolded them for tricking it. “Shame it’s not large enough to feed a Bat to,” Jervis observed.

“Oh, I have one of those,” she answered. “This is one of its babies.”

“How big is it going to get?” he asked, fearing for their hideout.

“Don’t worry; yours probably won’t get enough food and nurturing for that. It’ll likely only get big enough to eat a small cat.”

Jervis considered the plant a moment, and looked briefly at Selina, before managing a polite and slightly unsettled, “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be... useful come next summer when the flies return.”

As a discussion of whether such a plant would actually eat larger creatures if given the chance devolved into talk of Pamela’s other monster babies, most were glad for the diversion when Victor finally turned up. Noting the discarded wrapping paper on the table he apologised for not having a present, “But I hope that ice cream is a suitable substitute,” he said, holding up a rather large square carton with 3x3 different flavours.

Harley took one look, “Ozzie. Cake. Now,” and giving Oswald a good shove raced off herself. “Where are the spoons an’ bowls?!”

“The kitchen is traditional,” Oswald mentioned as he headed there at a rather leisurely pace.

“Where’s tha kitchen?!” She ran back the other way, grabbing him and dragging him along without an answer in another random direction.

Once the kitchen had been safely located and necessary items dished out, conversation fell to cake and ice cream.

Jervis watched over Jonathan as they ate, continually smirking as Jonathan protected his full bowl fiercely whilst being still too full of crackers from earlier to actually eat any of it. “You look like some sort of dragon with its hoard, pirryno,” he finally mentioned as Jonathan scooped up some of the melting ice cream to force down the best he could. “I’m sure we could freeze it and take it home for later.”

“...get all freezer-burnt...” Jonathan muttered, poking and nibbling at small bites.

“All right. I’ll rub your stomach later when you have indigestion from all this,” Jervis promised, “since you were nice enough to invite everyone here so politely for me.”

Jonathan just shrugged. “I thought it would make you happy. If they hadn’t agreed I could have scared them into coming anyway.” He got a couple of looks from the rogues close enough to hear his assertions, and a clearing of Edward’s throat. “Please; you’re all still scared of me, despite how powerful and intelligent you may be.”

“And here I thought scarecrows were full of straw; turns out what they’re actually full of is themselves,” Jervis said, defusing the situation as most rogues took the chance to smirk or laugh briefly at Jonathan. “It’s my party. Play nicely, March Scare.”

Given everyone was a little too old, or unfairly advantaged in some way, to play party games the party wound down early once the food was gone. No one knew quite what to talk about or do, and if Harley’s enthusiasm about start having parties every time one of them had a birthday came true then it seemed best to save some ideas for next time.

“It was enough, Jonathan; please don’t worry,” Jervis said as they parted ways with Harley a few streets from the Lounge and were finally alone again, walking Gotham’s streets. “I’m sure next time mine comes around we’ll be a little more practised at what we all want to do together.”

“Next time?”

“I have a feeling we’re going to be spending more time together, this little found-family of ours; they all seem so very pleasant to me, although as you said perhaps that’s only due to Harleen and I.” He turned to Jonathan, surprised by what he found. “You’re smiling.”

“Having beneficial, supportive relationships in this sort of life is useful, even if I didn’t also find it pleasant to finally have people I could call... friends,” he dared to explain.

“No, not just that kind of smile,” Jervis said, truly beaming himself. “’She said afterwards that she had never seen in all her life such a face as the King made.’”

Unaware, although supposing his facial muscles did feel like they were in a very unusual position, Jonathan took the opportunity to find a shop window he could catch his reflection in and stopped for a look; on his face he saw a true, vulnerable smile. Jervis’ beaming face joined him in the reflection, looking up for some sort of response as Jonathan simply stared into his own current reflection.

“...I like seeing that smile on your face, Jonathan,” Jervis finally spoke softly, when Jonathan had said nothing as he simply observed and smiled. “You finally have someone you can trust enough to relax with, don’t you?”

“Proud at all?” Jonathan retorted, slipping into sly for a moment.

“I imagine you haven’t had anyone like that before,” Jervis continued undeterred.

And Jonathan dropped his gaze to his hands in the mirror, balled up and hiding inside his pockets. “...That’s true,” he finally admitted. “Having you, I feel confident enough that you’d stand up for me had the others been mean earlier.”

“You still fear that?” Jervis asked, taking note of Jonathan’s almost child-like phrasing before realising the particular word he’d also used.

Jonathan just quirked one side of his smile at it, walking on again into the night rather than admitting it.

Happy enough, Jervis followed at his heel until he managed to catch up with Jonathan’s long strides, falling into place beside him even if it was difficult keeping up. “I’ve been thinking, you know,” Jervis began.

“Oh dear. We will have to do something to rectify that,” Jonathan panned back dryly.

“Your fear toxin could get through those little holes in the bulletproof glass at banks, couldn’t it?” Jervis continued undeterred, a little too enwrapped in his own genius. “We could try robbing a bank sometime!”

“We are not in any form of financial need to rob a bank, Jervis.”

“I know, but we _could_ ,” was the point. “We ought to; we’re criminals, you know.”

Jonathan smiled dryly at him. “Until I met you I had always thought it was the crime aspect that came first; you do have a very different way of doing things.”

“Or for Halloween this year- You are doing something, yes? You must do something – You’re like the King of Halloween! You’re practically a real life Jack Skellington! – I had this thought- Now this is a complex one so attend closely, yes?” Jonathan played along, nodding he was listening. “Now, we need to find a pizza delivery place that closes at night and some lemons, or just the juice would also be acceptable.”

“I can’t wait to see where you’re going to go with this, and I think I regret it already.”

“We break into the pizza delivery place at night when it’s closed with the lemons’ juice and write ominous messages inside the empty delivery boxes. Now – ‘”If you’ll only attend, Kitty, and not talk so much,”’ – lemon juice is invisible in such a natural state. However! When exposed to heat it browns, revealing hidden messages.” He made gestures with his hands, “When they put the pizza in, invisible – Perhaps the slight smell of lemons, but nothing they’ll suspect – then it travels with the hot pizza, so by the time it’s delivered the message has appeared and is revealed to the unsuspecting consumer upon them consuming their meal!”

Jonathan had to laugh. He tried to stifle it, he really did, but, “What sort of ‘ominous messages’ are these they’ll find hiding under their,” He snickered slightly, “pizza?”

“Oh, I was thinking the sort of ‘Are you aware who’s watching you right now?’ or ‘You could die at any time’ or a classic ‘Do you want to know what was put in this pizza?’. That sort of thing; unsettling, the kinds of message they scrawl in lipstick on mirrors in horror movies, you know the sort.”

Another stifled laugh escaped.

Jervis lifted his hands in surrender, leaving Jonathan to realise the sheer brilliance he had just been presented with when he could properly appreciate it.

Conversation dropping away, the two walked in a peaceful silence down the mostly deserted streets of the quieter, tourist-heavy parts of downtown Gotham. While a few Gothamites knew they weren’t in too much danger out at this time, or had resigned themselves to their fate long ago, tourists were still too in fear of the city’s reputation to dare being out at this time.

Jervis began whistling the Lobster Quadrille after a while, which he defended with, “It’s my birthday; I may do as I like.”

“Yes, but it’s also my unbirthday, you know,” Jonathan parried back, at least getting a little momentary peace while Jervis dubiously pursed his lips if that passed as true Wonderland logic. When it looked as if he’d realised it didn’t, “I’m surprised you can whistle anyway with those teeth,” he mentioned teasingly, glancing away to hide his smirk.

“Well I never! I’ll have you know that-!”

“Hey,” Jonathan interrupted, gaze having become fixed on a sign at the crossroads they were passing.

Jervis looked up as well, seeing upon it...

Oh.

“Story Book Land...” Jervis murmured, staring at that such simple sign and its pointing arrow. At the crossroads it wasn’t the road that lead to their home together but instead the other way, a way he hadn’t passed for a good few months, since that night when...

Jonathan looked over, seeing the fear in Jervis’ face plainly. “Do you want to go see the Wonderland exhibit together?” he posed.

Jervis began to shake his head, still unable to take his eyes off that sign. But he then slowed, and stopped. Looking at Jonathan, and hanging his head in a little shame, Jervis eventually mustered the fidgeting bravery to say, “...I... Yes. I should.”

He didn’t move quite yet though. Not until an offered hand came into his lowered line of sight, ready to walk with him.

Jervis extended his own hand cautiously, daring to take Jonathan’s and look up to see what expression Jonathan’s face held: Only patience, in the form of a small and slightly proud smile.

Legs feeling oh-so-heavy and difficult to move, Jervis forced them to start walking in that direction, to keep walking even as that arched sign came into view ahead above the locked gates. No carded guard to let them in this time, Jonathan helped him over to a low part of the wall above a large planter they could climb on, hopping the wall easily together.

Landing conveniently on Little Miss Muffet’s tuffet, they walked onto hard path and the central space between the exhibits. “People actually come here for, what? Entertainment?” Jonathan asked, utterly unimpressed.

“Have you never been to a theme park of any kind?” Jervis asked as he navigated them past Jack and the Beanstalk’s sign.

“Gladly not.”

“They’re all utter disappointments,” Jervis agreed, pointing ahead to where- “...Oh.”

Jonathan looked away from three uncanny looking little pigs that reminded him a touch too much of Lazlo Valentin, catching up to where Jervis stood staring at the boarded entrance beneath the ‘Alice in Wonderland’ sign. Slowly daring to walk up, Jervis stopped in front the paper sign pasted on the wooden boards, one hand resting upon it both gingerly and with all the courage he could muster.

“‘The ‘Alice in Wonderland’ exhibit is permanently closed,’” Jervis read in slow and quiet pain, “‘under the orders of the GCPD, the mayor and the people of the city of Gotham, as of the 17th of March.’”

“A few days after your incident here,” Jonathan remembered.

Jervis nodded heavily, letting his hand fall and he looked up at the sign again. Though forlorn at first, after a while he actually smiled. “It’s like a war memorial or something,” he said, laughter almost tingeing his voice.

“It does seem a little extreme,” Jonathan agreed. “Although I suppose the works of Lewis Carroll will never be the same in this city now thanks to you.”

Distress flashed clearly across Jervis’ face as he continued to look up at the sign, settling into a resigned sadness, before he found a peace with it again. “...I’m rather powerful now, aren’t I?”

“Oh yes; a scourge of theme parks everywhere,” Jonathan agreed dryly.

Momentarily peeved enough to take his attention off the sign to frown at Jonathan, Jervis gave it one last lingering look before walking on now. Jonathan followed, passing a good number of far too Disney-looking exhibits Jervis seemed uninterested in. Eventually, having seen what ‘sights’ the park had to offer and simply too tired to care, they ended up in the Sleeping Beauty exhibit.

Jonathan slumped himself into the chair for the spinning wheel, giving it a spin and poking his finger on the fake, blunt needle. Jervis, meanwhile, opted for the bed, “Excuse me, miss,” evacuating its current occupant onto the floor so he could take a seat.

Looking at the utterly plain, featureless below the neck Sleeping Beauty doll lying glass-eyed at his feet, “This whole place reminds me far too much of Professor Pyg,” Jonathan mentioned with distaste. He gave it a good kick away, torso and legs coming apart cheaply in the process.

“How on Earth did she sleep on this for so long?” Jervis fidgeted about on the deeply uncomfortable, plain wood block of a bed, before tutting and settling for seating himself on her pillow. “Much better.”

“If you’re waiting for a prince to come along and kiss you awake you’d better find something comfortable,” Jonathan observed humorously, putting his feet up on the spinning wheel.

Though he first made a good show of being utterly affronted, “I don’t need to,” Jervis eventually commented in a high tone, settling back with an equal grin; “he already did.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes, turning them upwards to the light-polluted twilight sky. Autumn wind was stirring at their jackets with a cold edge, but the chill was almost pleasant; it was fresh, alive. Even if most of the plants here were as fake as the stories on display, the gap they all made in the city’s edgeless sprawl of dark, soulless buildings was a form of nature in itself. It was space, imperfect but nonetheless relief, in Gotham’s concrete and noise.

“I think I always loved this time of year best,” Jonathan mentioned gently. “Maybe it’s because I couldn’t wait for the unbearable summer heat to be over, but it felt as if everything finally calmed down when autumn came; everything was finally settled where it was meant to be.”

“’”Do you know what tomorrow is, Kitty?” Alice began. “I was watching the boys getting in sticks for the bonfire – and it wants plenty of sticks, Kitty! Only it got so cold, and it snowed so, they had to leave off. Never mind, Kitty, we’ll go and see the bonfire tomorrow.”’”

Briefly Jonathan considered taking issue with being likened to a kitten, but he understood what Jervis had meant just as Jervis had understood him. Just as in that shed all that time so many months ago. “...You’ve really changed, Jervis,” he said. “I mean, you were already obnoxiously over-confident and prone to poor life choices when we met-”

“Am I paying extra for the gratis insults?”

“-but I’ve watched you begin to finally confront and embrace your fears from what I’ve taught you,” Jonathan continued undeterred. “More than that you’re beginning to transform it into a power of your own, your own subtler and unnerving form compared to my outright terror. When I meant that the people of Gotham will never be able to see Lewis Carroll’s works in the same way again because of you I meant it as a compliment.” He looked at Jervis sat, rather uncertain and vulnerable in this moment but with no fear around Jonathan anymore. “You’ve blossomed into what you always should have been. You’re utterly captivating, you know?”

Now Jervis blushed as well, fidgeting with his hands in a steeple shape in front of him.

“I was employing that word in a more literal sense as well,” Jonathan clarified; “even without your cards you’re a wonderful manipulator and puppeteer of people.”

“Most others wouldn’t really consider those qualities to be commended on,” Jervis pointed out.

“You are a perfect partner to the Master of Fear, and to me.”

They simply stared at one another for a moment, Jonathan's smile eventually pushing Jervis to blush shyly and fidget again, “Oh gosh...” before settling in a more befitting position with his elbows up on his knees, chin resting on his knuckles in thought. “...You know, Jonathan, I’m the person I always wanted to be now, I think,” he began.

“No quote?” Jonathan asked. “Even I could think of one you could have used for that.”

Jervis shook his head. “I don’t need my quotes to communicate when I’m with you; you just understand my normal words.” Jonathan really did want to point out quite a big flaw with that, but before he got the chance, “Putting my research into practice, the opportunities I have for it now, physical health,” He patted his much firmer stomach, flexing his muscles too, “a big friendship group, fame, a loving partner,” He smiled at Jonathan who still wanted to take issue with a number of things Jervis was saying; “a life where I can be myself finally.” Jervis sighed happily. “And that person is a criminally insane man on the run from the law, a mass murderer and thief, scorned by half the public and feared by the rest.” Jervis smile dropped along with his confidence. “Does that mean I truly am a bad person, Jonathan?”

Jonathan hummed, foot dangling in the air thoughtfully. Finally he simply turned it back to Jervis with a question, as any psychologist would; “Do you believe people are truly good and bad, Jervis? That their entire life and spectrum of behaviours can be reduced to a binary label?”

“Well, if you’re going to take that utterly grey, relativist attitude when can we truly ascribe any label to anything in this world?” Jervis tutted sulkily in reply, bringing an intellectual smirk to Jonathan’s face. “‘”Even a joke should have some meaning – and a child’s more important than a joke, I hope.”’”

“You were being serious?” Jonathan guessed that meant. And if so he sighed. “I really don’t know if I’m a suitable judge nor jury on that, Jervis. All I can say is... Do you feel that you’re a bad person?”

Jervis turned his gaze to the sky above them to answer that. “...I never wanted to be a criminal, Jonathan. I just did the things I thought were right – Even if I can’t believe I thought they were so now – and ended up branded one. Now, as you suggested all that time ago, I’ve used this freedom to do more of the things I feel are right, or that I want to at the very least. And they’re further crimes.” He bit on his lip, quite a considerable gesture with his overbite. “Perhaps I’m not a bad person yet, but I feel as if I’m getting worse.”

“I think it’s perhaps expectable that with the label and America’s terrible reform system, you would commit more crimes once being labelled a criminal,” Jonathan argued from fairness. “Does it matter to you if you are a bad person? You said yourself before that you’re resigned to no heaven but that which we create for ourselves now.”

Jervis continued to stare quite miserably towards the ground, the outstretched limbs of the mannequin he’d evicted from the bed to take it for himself particularly.

Taking pity after enough silence, “I don’t think it’s something you need to answer right now,” Jonathan said in way of comfort. “Hopefully you’ll have many more years of crime ahead of you to consider your answer in.”

That brought a smile back to Jervis’ face, one that slowly grew as he took the good advice given and put the subject from his mind for now. “Perhaps it’s a tad late now,” he began with the lighter tone of a new subject, “but you think I’ll be more than one of those brief flash-in-the-pan rogues then? More than a Calendar Man or Condiment King?”

“Well, I think they rather decided that for themselves in choosing names based around things with an in-built expiry date,” Jonathan joked, “but I believe you have the capacity to, yes.”

“Do you think it’s a good villain name? The Mad Hatter?” Jervis asked.

“It’s better than the Riddler,” Jonathan mentioned, drawing a tittering laugh. “But had you encountered Edward before this you would have been scared nonetheless, yes?” Jervis inclined his head, agreeing with that. “Oswald took one of the least fearsome birds and turned it into a formidable household name that commands respect. So I don’t think you have an inherent problem, no. It will be what you make of it.”

Jervis accepted that with a happy but pensive expression, looking out again at the city past the story book walls the two of them sat in together safely for now, at the ever darkening sky and raw, vibrant scent only this city’s air had. “...I used to see Gotham in quite a different way, you know,” he began.

Jonathan inclined his head, listening.

“Before I was only here because of my job; I only stayed because of the opportunities that provided, enough to outweigh all the dangers and madness of this city. It used to terrify me, how lawless and different this city was to every other one on the planet,” Jervis said. “Now I see why Gotham draws people, and why they stay. It’s a city without the normal rules and laws, but not one without any rules; the difference is in the fact that _anyone_ can rise to a position where they make the rules in this city, not just the people lucky enough to be born rich and powerful – In many ways, Gotham is the true meritocracy the rest of America likes to pretend it is.”

Jonathan snorted appreciably at that line.

“If you’re a civilian then it’s terrifying to be at the bottom of that,” Jervis continued. “But if you have the capability to make your way up to the top it’s wonderful.” His face almost sparkled now with the joy of it, that rush of the costume and the crimes and the silly names. “Even if you do reach that top, you always have to worry about being usurped though,” he continued with a slightly more measured tone; “the life is so tenuous and dangerous, more than I want, but where we are in the middle is perfect.” He looked over to see if Jonathan objected to him switching to the plural.

Jonathan didn’t, merely listening still.

“Once you become involved in this game for power you can’t ever escape,” Jervis began to round off. “It’s dangerous and terrifying, this life; Gotham becomes a natural, wild habitat for us rogues as it changes us, one we can’t comfortably leave once that change takes effect. But within this wilderness of ours, the possibilities that exist in this city exist nowhere else on Earth. I love that now I see it,” he said almost breathlessly, looking to Jonathan to see if he felt it too. “...It’s like Wonderland, Gotham.”

“Your own real-life Wonderland,” Jonathan agreed, looking with him out to the twilight and streetlights, the noise and excitement and the Batsignal-lit sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has become not only the longest Hattercrow fic on AO3 (as of the publication of the final chapter at least) but also the one with the most kudos, an amount I never thought possible for such a rarepair as this. Originally I intended this only to be a handful of chapters, one of those fics that gets them together and leaves off there after one quick bit of sex or whatnot, but welp. This is how fascinating they ended up being.
> 
> As of the time of publishing this, I'll be moving on to continue and finish my Oswald/Edward fic now. If, once that is done, I still have the time and inclination then I have a fic set about ten years in the future of this one when Jervis and Jonathan, along with Edward, reform and face re-integration into society, that will feature all the characters from all my Batman fics coming together. But I can't say whether that will ever become a reality at this point. Just know that things don't end here for them by a long shot, as the future glimpses at the end of chapters have shown.
> 
> If you're still hankering for some more Hattercrow then I'd recommend checking out '[The Mad Hatter's Guide to Happiness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12794181)' by a friend of mine (Don't be fooled by the lack of a relationship tag) who inspired me a lot through these final few chapters to get this story done and posted for you all.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for coming this far on Jervis and Jonathan's journey with me. They've been a special, meaningful pair to me for years and I'm glad I got this chance to write a proper story to show why finally.
> 
> Oh, and the inspiration for Jervis' pizza idea came from [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hPxXZu_N0g4), and by golly do I want to see it used in a Scarecrow comic one day.


End file.
